The Unwilling Escort
by PheonRen
Summary: When Ferruk is sent on an easy escort mission, everything goes wrong and his world turns upside down. Orc M/BElf F sexual situations. Violence, gore, explicit sex, rated MA.
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

The blood elf noble in front of him (don't they all think they're nobles?) was pacing up and down the study in his lavish suite in Silvermoon City. Ferruk shifted uncomfortably, he really wanted to be anywhere besides here. He'd been sent on what other members of his garrison considered cream work—the most desirable positions due to their simple and uncomplicated natures and low degree of physical demand. The Forsaken, the trolls, the tauren, even the blood elf soldiers all wanted the cream jobs. The easy stuff.

But this was a blood elf noble, and he had stringently demanded that only an orc was acceptable. Trolls were unacceptable because they had eaten blood elves in the past, Forsaken must surely stink (they didn't, but some people just didn't want to hear it), and Tauren shed (sometimes true). Blood elves, of course, might (would definitely) attempt to seduce the little princess.

And so, Ferruk had been given the dubious honor of watching over the great Kel'Norat Mequa's daughter. Kel'Norat's pacing was beginning to get on Ferruk's nerves, but he tried to pay attention to what the man was saying.

"—had it placed on her as a child, she kept running off. It seemed a good notion at the time, and it has served us well. But now that she's an adult, we have no idea how to remove the spell. Our only hope is that the mages of Dalaran will be able to remove it somehow. We do have a tinkered device that will allow her to use the portal from Crystalsong Forest, but that's the only way we can find to get her there. That's where you come in," Kel'Norat said. "You'll be escorting her to Undercity, to Howling Fjord, and from there, to Crystalsong Forest.

"But let me forewarn you, orc, it won't be easy. It's many, many weeks of travel by foot, and she cannot be allowed to fly. It's simply too dangerous.

"Are you listening to me, orc? Really, why do they send me these people? Couldn't they have found someone a bit more competent? I mean, come on, you're not even listening to me!" Kel'Norat's face was starting to turn from pale white surrounded by an equally pale white mane, to bright red, looking much like a frosted Winter Veil ornament.

Ferruk said simply, "I was listening, sir. You cursed your daughter, now you demand that I waste the Horde's valuable time escorting her across the frozen and dangerous lands of Northrend because you couldn't be bothered to act like a real father and take care of your daughter when she was a child." He crossed his hands and sat back, his green eyes boring coldly into Kel'Norat's glowing green orbs.

For a moment, the man spluttered. Ferruk was smugly certain that he would be relieved of this most unwanted duty at this point, and could get back to the proper business of fighting the Scourge. Things did not go as he predicted, unfortunately.

Kel'Norat threw his white mane back and laughed. He laughed. And laughed. And kept laughing. Ferruk sat impassively, wondering what the devil had come over the man. "You're right, orc. What was your name? Ferruk, that's right. Oh, you're so right, and my wife and I argued endlessly about that. Oh, you're perfect. Absolutely perfect!" He seemed to Ferruk to be nearly crowing at this point.

It also seemed to Ferruk to be a very unhappy situation. He had hoped the man would cut him loose for his bluntness. Instead, it seemed to make him "perfect." For what, Ferruk didn't want to even begin to wonder.

Kel'Norat leaned back in his chair. The man was perfect, absolutely perfect. He was reasonably sure that the man sitting in front of him would be impervious to Nerissa's machinations. He wasn't sure what intentions his bitch of a wife had for their daughter, but he was determined to remove the curse she'd had put on Nerissa as a child.

The woman was obsessed with money, control, and above all else, Power. Any kind of Power, be it magical, social, or simply possession of things with great physical Power. She had bought him as her husband, improving her status in society and ensuring herself financial Power.

Sin'Dorei society was openly matriarchal; though in the most corrupt sense of it. Among the highest levels of their society, the matriarch determined matters of heredity. Women, also, determined matters of arranged marriages. Thus, he had been, for all intents and purposes, sold to his wife for the paltry sum of her promise to provide a female heir to his parents' dying dynasty.

Now the woman held nearly absolute power over him and their daughter. He had to protect his daughter, since he believed that he would soon be poisoned so that his wife could find a consort. But before she could kill him, she had to kill his daughter. All of the money in their family belonged to him until their daughter came of age. At which point she would inherit it all.

She would turn 60 on her way to Dalaran. Then she would be of age to inherit. At which point all of her mother's Power and status in society would be gone. Nerissa was already a woman, and of course, could take a husband at any time. If she did so, then her mother would lose everything unless she could rid herself of her husband, her daughter, and the husband if there were one.

So over all, the man sitting across from him and dwarfing his elegant, oversized luxury chair, might well be the only hope that he and Nerissa had. Not only of keeping their fortunes, which would be nice, but of surviving. Kel'Norat considered whether or not to warn the man directly about his wife, and decided against it.

Instead, he told Ferruk, "You should be aware, she isn't safe. As a noble, there will be many out to end her life. The list of those who would happily harm her is nearly endless."

Watching Ferruk nod, he couldn't read the man's ugly face at all. He could only hope and pray to whatever deity that might be listening, that the man heard him and took him seriously. The trip ahead for this man and his daughter would be fraught with danger.

* * *

Lady Chalisse Mequa Trasamme swept into the room. Her husband was going to remove the curse she'd had put on their daughter, was he? She almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. The curse made the girl easy to control, and thus she'd taken care to have one put on her that there was no known way to remove.

But this little fancy of his could work to her advantage. Here, the girl was constantly under guard. The truth of Sin'Dorei society was well known, so she was continuously protected. Now her foolish husband intended to set the girl free to roam around the face of Azeroth, with no one to watch over her except…

This time, she did laugh out loud. Except an orc? "Is this the man that's going to escort Nerissa?" she asked.

When Kel'Norat confirmed her suspicion, she laughed even louder. "Surely you jest?" When he shook his head, she looked at the orc. He was incredibly ugly. Green skin, green eyes, awkwardly large and with a grotesquely large and misshapen head.

But, he was big, and from what she could see of his body, very powerful. Sweeping over to the orc, she sat in his lap. Delicately, she patted him on the chest. "You're certainly very strong, but I hardly think you're sufficient to escort our daughter." She batted her eyes at the orc, and smiled sweetly at him. "She's very important, you see. She'll be in great danger while traveling."

To her shock and dismay, the orc reached out and grasped her breast through her shirt and grimaced at her. "Dat's okay, laydee, you feel me very strong. You wanting closer look, I kin tell."

Outraged, she jumped up, slapping his hand away when it followed her. "How dare you?" she shrieked. Of all the absurd, unnatural… she couldn't even think of all the appropriate words for him. Turning on Kel'Norat, she yelled, "Unacceptable! I won't have that man anywhere near my daughter!"

Once more, she was surprised today. Kel'Norat got up and came around his desk. His face inches from hers, he said, "He's going to escort her, and that is that. Don't worry, I'll be sure to warn her not to sit down on his lap and feel him up." She gasped and felt herself begin to shake with anger. She was determined that she would find a way to punish him, hopefully brutally, for this later.

Knowing of no way to get around it, as ultimately this particular issue was his to deal with, she left the room, stating only, "We'll just see about that!" She knew the comment was impotent, but she said it anyway.

After she left, she thought about it for a while. Really, why not let the orc escort Nerissa? He was clearly stupid, oafish, and ugly. It was an excellent deterrent to Nerissa marrying before Chalisse could have her taken care of. Chalisse's face hardened. How inconvenient and inconsiderate of Kel'Norat to make this difficult for her.

Well, it didn't matter. Let the stupid orc take Nerissa to Dalaran. They would never make it, Chalisse would make sure of that. Determined now, she stepped off down the hallway. Oh yes, she would make sure they never, ever reached Dalaran. How much trouble could one spoiled little bitch and one stupid orc be?

* * *

Ferruk was highly annoyed by this whole business. Kel'Norat's amusement at his antics notwithstanding, Ferruk still didn't want to be here. He didn't want an escort job, he just wanted to fight. Escorting some nobleman's unholy spawn around the face of Azeroth might be someone's idea of fun, but it was far from his own.

And worse, it seemed that everything he did to make himself seem unsuitable was turning around right in his face and slapping him upside the head. He couldn't believe that the crazy noblewoman hadn't managed to override her husband's wishes. Kel'Norat didn't strike him as someone who'd stand up to his wife. 'Henpecked' seemed to be a good word for the guy. If he weren't an asshole, Ferruk would have felt sorry for him.

As it was, he just really wanted to be free of him. In particular, he was displeased to be in Eversong Woods; displeased to be shafted with a babysitting job; displeased to be dealing with these arrogant, pompous, self-important fools… and tired of their blatant ignorance. Raised in such an environment, he was fairly sure just what kind of person his charge was going to be. Little did he know, but he was not to be disappointed in the slightest. She would meet, and exceed, his expectations within the first few moments of their introduction.

He was led out of the luxurious library and into the suite beyond. There, he was told to wait. He looked at the bear rug that adorned the floor, the massive statue of a dancing woman on the wall (and yes, he looked up her skirt, just in case it was anatomically correct), and the tiny little chaise that sat on the poor bear's back.

At last, a diminutive elf woman entered the room beside Kel'Norat. "Ferruk, this is my daughter, Nerissa." Ferruk waved, trying to make the best of the situation.

She ignored him entirely, "An orc, father? You don't seriously expect me to travel with an orc, do you? They rape people, you know. And you know what mother would say if—"

"That's true, actually," Ferruk said, completely deadpan.

Kel'Norat shot him a look of sheer spite. "Not helping!" he snapped. Ferruk tried to look properly chagrined.

"Well, maybe if she's scared of me, she'll behave like a person instead of a child," Ferruk suggested helpfully.

"I'm not scared of you," she said tartly, "and furthermore, I don't think you know anything about how people should act." Her dark (for an elf) skin had become mottled with a rather unattractive red of anger, and her blazing red hair did nothing at all to offset it. If anything, it seemed to accent it and bring it out. Turning to Kel'Norat, she said, "Father, he's very ugly. You know how I hate to have anything ugly around me!" She pouted, apparently thinking she was doing so prettily.

Ferruk walked up to her, dropping his head so that his face was mere inches from hers. "You've got no room to talk, little girl. You look like you're having an apoplectic seizure, with your face all ruddy and mottled like that. Your hair is orange, and clashes with your eyes. Which, by the way, aren't a particularly attractive shade of green anyway. Right now they look rather like rotten peas."

She gasped at him, her small, red mouth forming an 'o' of surprise. "You filthy creature! Get away from me! I'll have you know," she tried to straighten up to make herself taller, "that I'm considered a great beauty. I'm intelligent, unlike you; I'm witty, unlike you; and I'm very powerful. My status, no doubt, is far above yours, too."

"And you're oh, so humble, too, aren't you, toots." He threw his head back and barked with laughter.

"I'm not going anywhere with that… that monster!" she shrieked. "You can't make me go!"

Ferruk stepped forward. "He might not be able to make you go, but I sure as hell can, and will."

"You wouldn't dare!" she snapped at him, eyes blazing even brighter.

He stepped another step closer to her. "Oh, I would more than dare. Your father's paying me to deliver you to Dalaran. You'll either go willingly, or unwillingly. And I'd personally prefer that you went unwillingly, because then I could gag you and throw you over the back of a mount. In which case, I could avoid your shrewish behavior the entire way to Dalaran." He was no longer smiling. Now he was looking at her seriously, intently.

She stepped backwards, shocked at his words and the intensity of his stare. Ferruk thought for a moment what a waste it was that she was such a little shit. She wasn't really all that ugly, just bitchy. Which was the next best thing to ugly to turn a man off completely, really.

Ferruk turned to Kel'Norat, "She's got the worst manners I've ever seen. It's astonishing, really."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not right in the room with you!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

Ferruk, still ignoring her, said, "I bet she isn't even packed, is she?"

She turned on her father with a look of sheer anger. "You hate me, don't you? You're doing this because you hate me."

"I hate you," Ferruk volunteered helpfully.

She burst into tears suddenly, running from the room. Ferruk looked at Kel'Norat with feigned innocence. "Something I said?" He lifted both arms, sniffing at one, then the other. "I bathed just last week, I swear."

To his surprise, Kel'Norat laughed uproariously and left the room, saying on his way out, "Oh yeah, absolutely perfect!"

Ferruk sighed. It seemed that, try as he might to get out of it, he was on escort duty to a spoiled little elvish "society princess."

* * *

Nerissa threw herself down on the bed and cried. Her sobs soon drew her maid, Sharinia to her side. "There there, what's the matter, Neri?" she said.

Barely able to talk, Nerissa tried to explain, "Father… sending…me…'way! … Terrible… orc… monster…" She cried even harder then when Sharinia told her that she couldn't understand her through her crying. "N'er mind!"

In that moment, Nerissa so hated her father, and her mother—who should have saved her from her father's peculiar whims! Finally able to talk, she told Sharinia, "Father's sending me away to Dalaran, and the escort he got for me is an orc. He's a terrible creature, ugly and rude and—"

Her diatribe was cut off as said 'creature' entered the room. "Oh, look, at least you're packing. In between whining, apparently."

Oh, how she hated him! "I'll have you know that I'm done packing. I've got all the essentials. Father said to pack light, so I have." She indicated the twelve cases on the floor.

"Which ones are you taking with you?"

The man truly was an imbecile. "All of them, of course," she said tersely.

He laughed, "Oh ho, no way, girlie. No way in hell. You'll take five, and you'd better make sure at least one contains food, reagents, and other necessities."

"Food? Reagents? Surely you aren't suggesting that I eat travel rations or that I am going to do any fighting?"

He scowled at her again, and she stepped back. Orcs, she knew, were very unpredictable creatures. She had no idea what he might do to her, and she really didn't like the way he was looking at her. "You can't even fight? Are you serious with that shit?"

Offended, she snapped, "Of course I can fight. I've had full training and full fight experience. There is nothing more that anyone can teach me." She lifted her chin, she was rather proud of her accomplishments as a fighter, in fact. But now that she had completed all of that, it was mercenaries' jobs to fight for her, like this fellow.

She watched him pick up one of her cases, and was relieved to see him come to his senses. That was, until he popped the latch on it and opened it without even asking permission! He really was an absolutely vile creature. The worst part being that he dared to claim she had terrible manners, and here he was pawing through her stuff!

He picked up her dress, the one she'd had made specifically for this trip, and threw it on the bed, "Worthless." Then her favorite, the lavender and cream gown followed, "Worthless." Beginning to see a trend, she ran around the bed and grabbed her case from him.

"Stop it! How dare you go through my things? You have no right!"

He stepped closer to her, and she struggled against her sudden fear. "I have every right. From today until we reach Dalaran, I'm the boss of you. You're going to pack essentials, and nothing else. No dresses. No bon-bons. No cakes or pastries. No frilly little frick fracks or whatever the fuck you people call them.

"You don't seem to get the fact that this is a life or death situation. You've always had help, you've been catered to and you've been babied. Now you're going out into the real world. You think I might rape you, and that's pretty funny. Especially given the fact that I'm the very least of your worries.

"I have one duty here. That duty is to protect you. I haven't been given any explicit instructions on how to go about it. Therefore, I'm going to go about it in the right way. That means, you carry only what's reasonable and intelligent to carry. You shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to, when I tell you to do it, and you don't argue.

"Because if you don't, I really will tie you up, gag you, and let you ride your mount that way. I don't like you, I don't care about you, and I don't have any interest in you besides delivering you to Dalaran with a still-beating heart. You're a selfish, self-important little bitch, and I just want to get you there and be quit of you as fast as I possibly can.

"I said it before. You're going, willingly or not. I have my preference about which way you go. I assume you do, too. Whichever it is, pick it fast, because we're leaving as soon as I'm done sorting out your bags."

He turned away from her and back to her bag. "Worthless, worthless, worthless" he repeated like a mantra. She sank down on the floor and cried. Suddenly, she felt very alone and very humiliated. When would it all be over? And why, in the name of all Holy, did her father pick this cruel, spiteful man to escort her? What had she done to deserve this?

* * *

Not realizing that his thoughts echoed hers almost exactly, Ferruk wondered what he had done to deserve getting this terrible assignment. He'd really thought Captain Eziel liked him. Judging by the pay alone, he would still think that. But this… this child in a woman's body… he was chained to a shrieking harpy for the next several weeks.

Like all orcs, Ferruk avoided addictive substances. The orcs had learned this lesson in the hardest possible way, nearly leading to the annihilation of their species. But right at this moment, with a wailing woman crying over dresses of all things, and 12 massive cases to go through—no doubt all filled with more dresses—he really thought that maybe a spot of grog or even a good stiff whiskey might not be an altogether horrible idea.

Speaking of ideas, though, he suddenly had a good one. Cases, instead of packs, were not very good for over-the-road travel anyway. And since he couldn't doubt for a moment that the rest of the cases were filled with utter crap, he made his decision. "Come on," he said. Then, when she ignored him and kept sobbing, "Get the fuck up and let's go, before I pick you up and haul your ass out."

She continued to ignore him, sobbing piteously. "Every minute I spend with you, I dislike you more and more," he said. Then he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, face down. She started kicking and hitting him on the back, shrieking like a maniac the whole way out of the apartments and even through the inn on the bottom floor.

Her mount, a black horse shrouded in red and white armor, snorted and shied away at her shrieks. Ferruk tossed her over the horse's back, completely uninterested in how she landed, as long as she stayed on. Using the tiny attunement crystal, he talked to Malovici for a moment, "I'm going to need a backpack and four satchels. Can you help me out?" Malovici responded in the affirmative.

They would have bags for her by the time they reached Silvermoon City, or Undercity, at the latest. Turning to the maid who had followed them out (and whom he noticed was trying to smother her grin), he said, "Do you know which case contains her armor?"

"None of them, sir," the maid said.

Sighing, he tossed her the satchel he'd been intending as a gift for little Lina, his friend's daughter, and told her to pack up armor and weapons for Nerissa, as well as a warm cape.

"I won't fight. I refuse. You can't make me!" He snarled in frustration as her strident whining hit his ear yet again. He wasn't sure which was worse, the whining or the pathetic sobbing. "I won't do your job for you!" Cancel that, the whining was definitely worse.

With a resigned sigh, he mounted his worg. As soon as the maid returned and handed a belligerent, uncooperative Nerissa her bag of armor, he turned to head out. He stopped and looked at her. "Coming on your own, or shall I lead your horse like a child's pony?"

She scowled, but followed. He was relieved, because he didn't actually want to have to drag her horse around, threats notwithstanding.

* * *

Kel'Norat watched them go, standing on the balcony above them. His stomach was tied in knots. He hadn't been a very good father, always giving in to Chalisse. But the fact of the matter was, for all his mistakes and misjudgments, he did love Nerissa. He wanted to protect her, and the no-nonsense attitude that the orc covered up with jokes and crudeness was a hopeful sign to him.

He couldn't hire an entire escort for her, because he was paying from his personal funds. But he had done his best, having turned away 5 others before Ferruk. Nerissa didn't understand the gravity of the situation, but despite his jokes, Kel'Norat knew that Ferruk did. It was the best he could hope for that this man might be able to get his daughter safely to Dalaran.

He knew that the curse could never be released. She would never be able to use magical transport. It didn't really matter, though. In Dalaran, she would be safe. In Dalaran, she could live a long and healthy life.

He began to cast the spell that would take him to Dalaran, too.

"Going somewhere, Kel?" Too slow, he was too slow. He shouldn't have seen Nerissa off.

The spell completed. He reached for the portal. Searing agony blazed through him, and he fell… face first into the portal. He landed roughly in Dalaran, his face burnt and his robes still on fire. A passerby took pity on him and he was Healed, the burn vanishing in an instant, the flames quieted just as quickly.

A thrill of triumph ran through him. She would still try to get to him, but his wife, no doubt cursing up a storm in Fairbreeze, had lost this round. Another day of life for him, another failure for her. He could hardly believe his good fortune. He was alive by simple stroke of the luck of falling forward instead of backwards.

He thanked the young priestess who had Healed him, and climbed to his feet. Dusting himself off, he made a decision.

_Ferruk?_ he sent through the attunement crystal.

_Yes?_ came the surprised response from the man at the other end.

_You're going to need help. There was just an attempt on my life. I can now pay you more than I currently am, as I'm no longer constrained to raiding my personal savings. I fear that you have little choice but to get more or to give up this mission. If you give up, though, you will be consigning her to death._ He was fearful of what the response might be.

_I understand. Don't worry; I can get a group to help me._ The response made Kel'Norat sink to his knees and gasp with relief.

Now, he could only wait in frozen paranoia until his daughter arrived or his wife completed her goal of killing him. On the positive side, Chalisse had just tipped her hand, so he could now make his security measures obvious, and could freely take compensation for them from family funds, which she fortunately hadn't yet the power to "liberate" from his access.

* * *

Ferruk felt little concern from the call that Kel'Norat had made to him via crystal attunement. It had only surprised him because blood elves were notorious skinflints. That the man was willing to pay for additional security measures did mean that the issue was more serious than he'd originally let on, but Ferruk had met the missus… he already knew there was some serious trouble brewing.

A woman that cunning and flagrantly selfish could only spell one thing: hell on Azeroth for someone. And since Ferruk was the lucky fool that got picked for this escort… that meant that the someone was him. He sighed. Well, there was nothing for it but to gather up the necessary people. Hilariously, to his mind, the group he was putting together would consist of three of the races that Kel'Norat had vehemently demanded not be sent to escort her.

Malovici was Forsaken, Whitecrow was Tauren, and Nantu was a troll. Nerissa's delicate sensibilities would just have to adjust, he thought with disgust. When your life was in danger, you didn't complain about who was willing to save it, if you were intelligent. He wasn't sure despite her claims, that his charge qualified as such, either.

Even now, she was riding her horse at a trot, falling behind and then galloping to catch up. A comfortable lope would be more comfortable for her and her horse both, but she seemed utterly incompetent at riding the beast, which kept grabbing the bit. Finally she (inevitably) started whining. "Can't you slow down? Why do we have to go so fast anyway?"

"You're letting your mount set the pace. The faster pace that I'm going will be more comfortable for both you and your mount," he told her.

"If it were more comfortable, he would just do it automatically," she snapped.

"Really? Like you would automatically mind your manners towards the person who's got your life in his hands?" She gaped at him for a moment, before snapping her mouth shut with a look that could melt titanium plating. He shrugged, "Your mount is an animal, he doesn't know what's best for him, because he's not intelligent. So you, as the supposedly more intelligent one, need to make the choices instead of leaving them up to him."

"Is that why you won't let me make my own choices, because you think you're more intelligent than me?" She still managed to make it sound whiny, he noted.

"No. I don't give you choices because you act clueless. Unlike your horse, you're too stubborn to listen and learn, not too stupid to."

"You are incredibly offensive."

"I guess I'm slacking, then. Keep giving me these fine examples, and pretty soon, I'll be as unendurably offensive as you are. It's my lifelong ambition." He sighed as she dropped behind again, gasping and spluttering. Ah, it was going to be a long trip.

Nerissa was so angry she could almost spit. Who did this hireling think he was, anyway? She dropped back and this time decided she wasn't going to bother to catch up. He was getting paid for what he was doing, so he could damned well start acting like it. Finally, the pain in her backside and inner thighs became so bad that she shakily dismounted.

Sinking to the ground, she sat still for a while. Then she decided to lay back and watch the clouds go by above her. She was tired, she was sore, and her hireling had run off and was nowhere to be seen. A rest would be just the thing. Perhaps at some point he would realize he was being derelict in his duty and come back for her. Until then, she was going to enjoy a little rest, and maybe a muffin…

Except that arrogant oaf had stolen her food, too! She cursed him out for a long moment, and considered going back to Fairbreeze. But they'd already ridden for at least two hours, and she couldn't stomach the thought of another two hours of grinding trotting on her horse. Even thinking about walking back seemed excruciating at the moment.

So, she let herself drift to sleep watching the clouds go by. Presently, the ground became uncomfortable, and she rolled around, trying to find a comfortable position. Darkness was falling, and she felt a stab of severe irritation. Where was that orc? Had he simply abandoned her here?

He probably had. He seemed to have no sense whatsoever, no understanding of what it actually meant to do what one was getting paid to do. What was her father thinking with that, anyway? Why didn't he hire someone more agreeable? And attractive…

With these thoughts in mind, she slipped back into sleep.

Which was exactly what Ferruk had been waiting for. He intensely disliked Nerissa, but he also knew that he had an obligation to her. Therefore, he was going to see to it that she began to understand clearly and without confusion, exactly how deadly the situation could be. He nodded at Malovici, and the man knelt into a crouch, summoning a cloak of magical shadows about himself that obscured the vision and tricked the mind.

Slowly, he crept towards the sleeping woman, soundless and smooth. A few moments later, he reached her, and with a snap of his dagger's hilt, he dropped her into unconsciousness. Ferruk and Whitecrow got up then, coming towards them. "What're you going to do?" asked Malovici in his sepulchral voice.

"Tie her up," Ferruk said. "I don't want her to see me until she's gotten the message. When she comes to, act like bandits or something," he said. The other two grinned. Well, he thought Malovici grinned, it was always hard to tell. "Don't do anything too dastardly, we're just trying to scare her." They shrugged and looked at each other.

"Well, I guess we could threaten her," Whitecrow said lamely.

The trio looked up at the approach of another rider. From the gloom appeared a raptor's face, followed by a relatively feminine troll face. They told Nantu what was going on, and she chuckled, that deep, rolling troll chuckle. "We's could say we's gonna eat her. Dems elfies be tasty."

"Devious," Ferruk said, then laughed, quieting when it made the captive stir. "I like it. Do it." Then he melted back into the shadows of a tree to watch and see just how she would deal with being at the mercy of three apparently hungry travelers… with herself on the menu.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Nerissa first noticed, as she slogged her mental way towards wakefulness, that her head was aching abominably. Then she noticed the heat of a fire, and was comforted. Until, that is, she opened her eyes. The figure of a female troll danced eerily before the fire, undulating and gyrating smoothly between her and the flames that obscured her ability to see clearly.

Suddenly, a face from beyond the grave (literally) appeared in front of her, so close that she could see that the strange lights burning within the otherwise empty sockets weren't attached to anything. She'd seen the undead before, of course, but she'd never actually come so close to one—nor had she ever desired to.

The voice of the freakish being before her groaned out, "She's awake, Nantu." Nerissa shrieked, screaming and wriggling against the ropes that bound her.

Her mind numbed in a fog of terror, she tried desperately to remember the name of the orc that was supposed to be escorting her. Finally, giving up, she started shrieking, "Orc! Orc! Where are you? Help!" Unbeknownst to her, Ferruk had to move away from the camp at this point, unable to control his laughter.

The troll stopped dancing for a moment and cocked her head to the side when Nerissa finally stopped shrieking. "I almos' done prayin' ta da spirits. When I's done, den we's cooks her. Ya wants yers raw, you said, eh?"

The undead man squatted in front of her, and began to look her over from far too close a proximity. He moved sinuously, seeming to almost sniff up and down her body. When he spoke again, his voice called to mind the coldness of a mausoleum, it even seemed dry, dusty, and dark. "Bit on the scrawny side. I think her thigh's've got the best meat on them. Though, maybe a little rump roast would do nicely," he said, and laughed, a sound like groaning timbers on an ancient boat.

"No rump for you until I'm done with it," said a voice to her left, and a massive tauren bull stepped into her view. He clomped towards her, and she realized she'd never seen one of them up close, either. Slowly, he lifted his shoulders and flexed them, this his massive head swung back and forth. He chuckled, a deep, rumbling 'heh heh heh' rolling out of his chest. "I like it doggie style," the big beast said, then laughed again and elbowed the troll woman. "Get it, cow, doggie style." He laughed again, another deep 'heh heh heh' rolling out of his chest.

When he stumped towards her, she started shrieking again. She'd never been so terrified in her entire life. In fact, in the face of the feeling that had overcome her, she thought that perhaps she'd never actually been terrified before at all.

"OOOORC!" She was now screaming at the top of her lungs, yanking and jerking on the ropes that bound her. She was crying, shrieking for help, calling for the orc that had abandoned her, riding off while she struggled along behind.

Her screaming was cut short by the sudden appearance of his face. He popped around the side of the tree, "You called? You were, I assume, calling for me? I can't be sure, as I never heard my name spoken even once." He laid down on the grass on his side, propping his head up on his hand.

"What are you doing? Cut me loose! Help me!" she couldn't believe her eyes. Was the man insane? Was he going to help her?

"Well," he drawled, "I might. I thought about it, really." He patted her on the leg then before pointing towards the bull tauren, "But actually, these folks are willing to pay more than your father. And since I'm stupid, and ugly, and terrible… I figured I'd just sell you to them.

"Of course, there is a way you could convince me to change my mind," he continued, and rolled onto his back, looking up at the night sky. "Oh, and before you offer sexual favors, you should know that I don't really think I could stomach that much proximity with you, you're a bitch."

She gasped, unable to fathom for a moment how this arrogant, ugly creature would dare to think that she would offer anyone sexual favors in order to buy anything from them.

"I'll take some sexual favors. I'm hung like a bull, too, it'll be real fun for you," the tauren said, and then rolled out that deep laugh again.

To her chagrin, the orc obviously had to fight to keep from laughing as well.

"What do you want before you'll save me?" she asked with mock sweetness. Oh, she hated that man so much!

Ferruk looked up at her, "Oh, I'm not sure you can manage what I will require before I save you from these terrible folk," he said smugly, and the others laughed.

"What? What do you want, you asshole?" she snapped, losing her patience and trying to fight the growing fear gnawing in her belly. How could her father have gotten her into this terrible situation? He'd put her in the care of someone who had sold her as food at the earliest opportunity!

"You're going to have to ask me nicely. And apologize. Yes, definitely apologize. Oh, and use my name when you ask. It's Ferruk."

She scowled at him, and he stared impassively back at her. Finally, grinding it out between her teeth, "Please untie me and get me out of here, Ferruk," she said. "I'm sorry."

He tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin. The undead man, now on the other side of her and squatting there, apparently trying to reattach a finger, said, "That didn't sound very sincere to me."

"Nope," Ferruk said, "definitely didn't sound sincere. And you pronounced my name wrong. Try again."

She tried again, this time making sure that her voice dripped with sweetness.

"Oh, sarcasm, I like it," the tauren said.

She felt tears welling up in her again. It was clear that they were just playing with her now, and the troll's words confirmed it for her, "Kin I jes eats 'er now? I's hongry."

"Ah, well, she doesn't seem to care much about her own life, so I guess you just as well," Ferruk said, and got up, dusting his armor off.

"Wait!" she shrieked, suddenly filled with desperation. "Please, don't! Help me, Ferruk, please! I'll do anything you ask!" She felt tears and humiliation run through her. She realized how utterly terrified she was when she lost control of herself as the troll started to walk towards her. "No! I want to live!" she screamed.

"Ewww," Ferruk, the tauren, and the troll said at the same time. The troll backed away, and the tauren turned away. Ferruk sighed and knelt beside her.

"What?" asked the undead man.

"Never mind," Ferruk said to him. "I didn't intend it to be that frightening, I suppose we should have ended it sooner. I didn't realize she'd been quite that sheltered."

"What?" Nerissa asked. "Are you trying to say that you and these people did this to me on purpose?" She felt hysteria, shame, and a rising tide of anger flow through her.

"Of course I did it to you on purpose. You don't recognize or understand the danger you're in," he snapped at her, and she felt herself shrinking back against the tree.

"You tell me that you have combat experience, but this shows me more clearly than any words that you have never once, in your entire life, really had to face actual combat in which your life was at stake. As embarrassed as you must feel, this was important to get you to understand the reality you are facing right now.

"Shortly after we left Fairbreeze, there was an attempt on your father's life. He contacted me to inform me of it, and to warn me to get companions to aid in protecting you. He barely escaped with his life.

"You're so busy being the big boss that you refuse to cooperate with me at all. You, me, these people here… we have to be a team. If we're not, we'll all die, every one of us. And frankly, with the way you treat people, the way you treat your maid, even the way you treat your animal, you're not worth dying for.

"So you're going to learn fear, and you're going to learn cooperation. If you don't, we're not going to keep trying to save you. And then, I promise you, whoever wants you dead, will succeed. We're all that stands between you and death."

Her head was reeling. She couldn't really grasp what he was saying to her. He was… livid. His face was enraged and he was snarling at her. She cowered against the tree, and felt a new sense of shame wash over her. He was right, she hadn't been cooperative in the slightest, and she hadn't really understood what was at stake.

Now that she did, she resolved to try to cooperate better. She didn't want to die, and she didn't want that troll to eat her.

Ferruk actually felt bad about the whole thing. He had hoped to scare the piss out of her, but not quite as literally as that. He was surprised that she was taking it so well, but he was also angry. In a vague way, he felt cuckolded. She claimed combat experience, and she probably did have a lot of it. But always in a group and always in safe situations, he was certain.

In fact, if he had to take a guess, she'd never actually killed anything alone or been sent on a dangerous mission without people many times more powerful than she there to protect her. So for all that she might have nothing more to learn from a trainer, she had a hell of a lot to learn about reality and the world beyond the walls of a pampered princess.

He helped her up, and picked up her gear. Leading her over to the river nearby where they had stopped, he told her that she could feel free to bathe there. He told her that she should put her gear on, and started to turn away. To his surprise, she simply started stripping without waiting for him to leave. As her dress dropped to her feet, she stood now in front of him in only underclothing.

Then, entirely ignoring him, she slid the panties down off of her hips. He recognized that he should tell her off. Had she learned nothing? On the other hand, he was intrigued. Either she laid out nude in the sunshine, or that was her natural skin color. The small corset she used to control her breasts dropped onto the pile, and he watched as the curve of one breast bounced as she released them from their confinement.

"Well?" she said.

He crossed his arms. "Well what?"

She looked at him and frowned. "Orcs don't bathe?"

"Oh, we bathe alright, but not with naked women that we don't intend to fuck," he said crudely.

"Ah. We have bath houses," she said. "We don't worry too much about nakedness."

"If we had co-ed bath houses, none of us would ever leave the bath house," he said.

He tortured himself a moment longer by watching her walk into the river. The moons shimmered off of it, leaving a bright trail of sparkles across the black waters. Although the darkness would have obscured her from someone with lesser vision, his keen night vision could see her very well as the water rippled and surged around her legs.

He watched her a moment longer, thinking to himself how upside down the world was. Unfortunate that her personality was nowhere near as attractive as her body. Turning away, he went and sat down on a rock nearby, listening to her splashing in the water, and listening to the tinkling of the water falling over the rock outcropping he was sitting on.

Soon, Whitecrow approached and sat down beside him, carefully averting his eyes from the naked woman in the water. "So what's this all about? You could explain a little better, if you please." So Ferruk did. He told the full story, including his very negative sense of the mother, Chalisse and his belief that she was the most likely source of the danger.

Whitecrow frowned and began to run his hand up and down his muzzle, an unconscious gesture that told Ferruk he was pondering the information he'd just been given. Most people underestimated Whitecrow, his broad black face disarming them to leave them thinking he was simple minded.

The truth of the matter was, though, his mind was incisive, and he knew more about the various cultures of Azeroth and even beyond, than anyone else Ferruk knew. That was part of what made him invaluable in this particular case. Ferruk needed solid advice, and Whitecrow was the place to get it.

While Whitecrow pondered, Ferruk glanced over to make sure that Nerissa was okay. She was now standing beside her clothes, apparently at a complete loss. Ferruk told Whitecrow that he'd be right back, and went to see what it was that was causing her such visible discomfiture.

She whirled as he approached, and he threw his hands up. "Just making sure everything's alright," he said.

She calmed, then said, "I've no clean underwear," her voice was low and embarrassed.

"You'll have to wash those, then. Wear the cloak in your bags while they dry off at the fire," he turned to go back to his consultation with Whitecrow.

"Ferruk?"

He turned back to her. "Yes?"

"Am I safe with them?" she sounded scared.

"Yes," he said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the reality of the situation. "Nantu is a vegetarian, Whitecrow is celibate, and Malovici has no appetite for anything living."

"Oh," she said. Then quietly, as if it were new to her, "Thanks for telling me."

He left her there and returned to Whitecrow. The big tauren looked at him and said, "You forgot the real danger to her in this group."

Ferruk's eyebrows climbed in question.

Whitecrow said, "You are neither vegetarian, nor celibate. And you have quite an appetite."

Ferruk shrugged it off. "I like my women sweet, W.C." It was the nickname he used for Whitecrow.

Whitecrow looked at him quietly for a bit, then moved off of the conversation. "I think you're right. In the higher levels of elven society, there are definite tendencies to try to kill off the heirs of unwanted husbands. I don't know what the situation is, but there are many scenarios in which the girl's mother would be trying to kill her. Their society is very complex in the small details. Heredity and inheritance, diplomacy and politics, all are tied up and bogged down with endless niceties and specifics.

"But on a grander scale, they're reasonably predictable. It's everyone for themselves, and any small gain in power is worth a huge risk. Killing your spouse and/or your child is a pretty small risk as their society goes, unless they get caught trying to kill a female heir. In which case, they can be exiled or killed.

"Whatever the woman has planned, she's not going to stop until that girl's dead. And it's highly unlikely that she even realizes where the danger is coming from, if she's as sheltered as she seems to be." He got up and left then, leaving Ferruk to sit and wonder at the absurdity of it all. The idea of killing one's own spouse and child simply out of greed was absolutely beyond thinkable to him. It seemed like the pinnacle of debauchery and evil to him.

He looked over to the fire where Nerissa was now sitting nervously with the others, not speaking, just staring into the fire. He felt a momentary sense of pity for her, a feeling he could ill afford.

Disgruntled, he clomped to the fire and settled down to rest, ignoring armor and everything, simply laying his head back on his arms and dropping into fitful sleep.

Nerissa was scared. She was also dreadfully uncomfortable. She didn't know what she was supposed to be doing now, where or how she was to sleep. Normally, someone would have prepared a spot for her in a comfortable place. But who was she to ask for help here?

She waited for what seemed like hours until the troll and the tauren went to sleep. The undead man, in his sinuous, shuffling way, snaked off into the darkness, she assumed to stand guard.

Slowly, she made her way as quietly as she could over to Ferruk. Pushing him slightly, she woke him up. He started and looked at her with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"What am I supposed to do?" she whispered.

Also whispering, he responded, "Do?"

"Yes, where am I supposed to sleep?"

He blinked at her for several long seconds. "Are you serious?"

She sat up a bit straighter, "Yes. Where am I supposed to sleep?" Did he not understand the question? It seemed simple enough.

"On the ground, like everyone else," he said.

"But I have no mat, no pillow," she told him.

"Well, neither have I," he hissed back at her.

She felt like crying. But she'd taken enough for today, and she got up and walked away from him. She was really supposed to sleep on the cold, bare ground? How could anyone sleep like that? Her back ached already from trying it earlier, her hips, butt, and inner thighs were terribly sore from riding, and in general… she was miserable.

She went back to the spot she'd been sitting for the last few hours while everyone went to sleep, curled up, and lost the battle to keep the tears at bay. But this time, she managed to cry quietly, muffling her sobs and sniffles with the cloak she was wearing.

Quite unexpectedly, she felt herself picked up. She gasped, then realized it was Ferruk. He was scowling, but didn't look at her. He carried her over to the bedroll he'd abandoned and carefully laid her on it. When he started covering her, she felt guilty and ashamed for taking his bed, still warm from his body.

Whispering again, she said, "You could sleep with me." She was exhausted, and realized she probably sounded stupid, but she said it anyway. She really did intend to try to be part of the team.

"That," he said, stressing the word, "would be a very bad idea right now." His voice was deeper than she remembered in her sleep-befuddled mind. "A word to the wise, Nerissa. Inviting a man to share your bed has a very limited application. I suggest you not do so unless you're prepared to make good on the implicit promise in it."

She heard him walk away, and tried to stay awake to sort out what he'd said, but she was simply too tired.

The next morning, having an attack of unaccustomed kindness, and a certain discomfort with the thought of facing her, Ferruk let Nerissa sleep in. They would get moving soon, but she was going to be sore when they did. Besides, he was uncomfortable with her ignorant invitation the night before.

"So I heard her ask you to sleep with her," Malovici said to Ferruk with a glance at her slowly rousing form. "If my parts worked like that these days, I'd take her up on it. But alas, my dick keeps falling off. If she's that hard up for it, though, I suppose I could let her borrow it."

A startled gasp from her general vicinity made the two men share a moment of masculine amusement, Malovici's ghastly face reflecting his amusement in the most subtle of ways, while Ferruk openly laughed. Ferruk told him, "Somehow, Mal, I don't think she's going to take you up on your very generous offer."

When she began to climb out of her bags, Malovici skittered off towards the river, waving an airy good-morning to her. Moments later, he was back, a fish clutched in his hand. Squatting down, he sliced its head off while it was still wriggling. Working swiftly, he started to fillet it. A moment later, he loped towards the fire, passing Whitecrow in the process.

On the way past, a chunk of soft, white, dead flesh fell to the ground. Whitecrow, never one to waste food, including sushi, picked it up and ate it.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Malovici yelled at him, making everyone look up in startlement.

"What?" asked Whitecrow, his broad face looking especially cowlike in its expression of surprise.

"You ate my dick, you asshole!" Malovici yelled. Nerissa made a gagging sound.

Whitecrow laughed his deep 'heh heh heh' laugh, and then said, "Yer dick tastes like fish, man. I think yer better off without it!"

"You twos stop dat! Jus cause dere's a new girl 'round don't mean ya needs ter be showin' off!" Nantu patted Nerissa (who was looking nearly as white as most of her counterparts at this point), and told her, "Don't pay them no nevermind, dey's tinks dey's funnay wit dat shit."

Sitting down beside Nerissa, Nantu handed her some cornbread, while everyone waited for Malovici's catch to cook. Nerissa ate it with obvious hunger, and Ferruk was grateful to Nantu. She was the motherly type, and he was pleased on both accounts. Now Nerissa had someone to mother her, and Nantu had someone to mother besides him.

The only real problem was, he wasn't sure how having two rather volatile females in the same group was going to turn out. He wondered if Nerissa was aware of the history between her people and Nantu's. If she was, it could lead to conflict. Although, if she wasn't, it could lead to conflict when she found out. He suspected, however, given her response the evening before, that she was definitely aware.

Well, all he could do was keep an eye on the situation and see where it went. Nerissa seemed willing enough to accept food from her, though that might just be due to hunger and not any sense of acceptance of the situation.

The fish was soon finished, and Malovici parceled it out amongst them, not bothering to eat, himself. He didn't require sustenance, and only ate replenishing food when he was injured. Otherwise, he didn't bother with any sort of nourishment that Ferruk was aware of. And he had never inquired any more deeply into it, if there was something else, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know about it.

When they were done eating, they began to pack up. Ferruk looked up just in time to see Nerissa drop her cloak and reach for her clothes. "Whoa, whoa!" he said. Swiftly, he went over and pulled the cloak back up around her shoulders and then around her body. He tried to ignore his response to her naked proximity as he pointed to the woods around them, "Who's watching you from over there?"

She turned to where he was pointing. "I don't know, who?"

"Exactly," he said. "Learn some discretion. Dress and undress discreetly when out in the open."

Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him. "You didn't complain last night," she said challengingly.

"That's right, I didn't," he told her, "I was enjoying ogling you. I enjoyed taking care of myself later, thinking about your naked body under mine, too." He started leering at her, trying to drive his point home. To his surprise, she held her ground.

"You can look, but don't touch," she said pertly. The others snickered, suddenly finding something else to do when Ferruk glared at them.

"You're missing the point," he snapped at her.

She sighed. "No, I'm not. You're right, I'll try to be more discreet." Mollified, Ferruk grunted and finished putting the fire out. By the time he was done with that, she was nearly dressed, her armor gleaming smartly as she finished pulling on bracers, gauntlets, and pauldrons. She stood up and summoned her horse.

He watched as she mounted somewhat slowly, obviously still sore from yesterday's trotting episode. When she was ready, they moved out. He rode beside her for a minute, and when the horse grabbed the bit, he showed her how to seesaw the reins so that she could regain them. The beast snorted and stamped, trying to rear. With a jerk, Ferruk pulled the horse's head tight against his chest. He hopped a few times, crowhopping and trying to unseat his rider.

Catching her cue from him, Nerissa grasped the reins and pulled his head into his chest herself. For upwards of twenty minutes, the group rode along with Nerissa and her horse battling for control. At one point, the beast tried to turn around and head for Fairbreeze. Ferruk told her to pull his head to the left and hold it there, hard. When she did so, her horse churned in a circle for a moment, then stopped, chuffing and panting.

When she released him, he returned to the group at her command. When they set out again, he met the steady loping pace of the group, and gave her no more hassle for the rest of the ride to Silvermoon City. Ferruk was impressed, and gave her a nod of approval. He was somewhat surprised and even slightly taken aback by the immense, delighted smile that crossed her face.

It made him wonder if she'd ever had an accomplishment entirely her own before. Probably not. He squelched his sympathy, though. She was still a spoiled little brat.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Ahead of them in Silvermoon City, Chalisse stepped out of the portal and into the temple proper. When her mage lover, Darius, stepped out of the portal behind her, she turned to him and smiled up into his handsome face. "Thank you, baby," she said breathily, caressing him with her silken voice and hand.

His frown eased, and he tugged her against him for a kiss. She broke it quickly, moving out of the temple to mount her hawkstrider just outside the door. As soon as he was mounted, she kicked the beast brutally, pushing it towards the Royal Exchange. Once there, she stepped inside the cool interior, and immediately began to siphon energy from the crystal.

Beside her, Darius began to do the same. Several feet from her, there was another man also drawing from the crystal. She ignored both of them, her lust rising as she drank in the succulent delight of sheer, unadulterated power. Soon, she felt its high overtaking her. She started to sway, and looked over at Darius.

The same sexually drowsy look drifted across his face, and she felt heat and dampness flood between her legs. High from the infusion of power and filled with lust for her handsome lover, she began to run her hands up her body, running one hand up to her neck, the other down to her gown-covered crotch.

Not unexpectedly, she felt Darius' hands on her hips from behind, and she continued to ignore the fact that there was another man in the room. The fact was, she didn't care. She drowned herself in the feel of Darius' hands on her hips, sliding around across her belly. When he slipped them up to grasp her breasts, she moaned and leaned back against him.

He unlaced the bodice of her gown, and simply let it fall. As she was wearing no underclothing (and never did), he was now free to grasp and knead her breasts as he saw fit. She continued to siphon off power from the crystal, her lust becoming almost painful as she indulged this less primal, but even more compelling lust for power.

She could feel wetness trickle down her leg, and as he nipped her neck, she relinquished her hold on the crystal, fully sated on its decadent elixir. Reaching up, she pulled his hands tighter against her breasts, dropping her head back on his shoulder. Then, she slipped one hand down to the folds between her legs, eagerly delving into them to pleasure herself.

So lost was she in the heady mixture of magic and sex that she wasn't even startled when the second man joined in, already nude. He stepped in front of her, lifting her head off of Darius' shoulder to kiss her deeply. His tongue invaded her mouth with purpose and demand. She felt Darius step away from her and heard him also disrobing.

The man in front of her was erect, his penis pressing against her belly. His penis dripped already, a sensual wetness that added to the wetness between her legs. He pushed her hand out of his way, and thrust his fingers into her folds, and she felt Darius pressing against her butt with his penis, as well, he having rejoined them.

The new man who had joined them, she knew only by reputation and name. He was Quardis Del'Narik, and he was a very, very dangerous man. This made it that much more exciting to Chalisse to be in this situation with him. He was intense and forceful, his fingers delving into her roughly, commandingly.

Quardis soon pulled her down on top of him on the cushion, pressing her down onto his penis, his hips thrusting up into her. She felt his penis plunder her depths, rough, fast, and hard. He pulled her hips down onto him, and although it should have been a situation where she was in control (being the one on top), she found herself obediently riding him.

Up and down she bounced, her thighs tightening and releasing rhythmically as she slid up and down the length of his penis. Beside her, she could see out of the corner of her eye, Darius was watching and stroking himself. His long, slender fingers wrapped around his penis as he mimicked the actions of her ride on the man she was stroking with her body.

Somehow, this made it even more delicious to her, and she grinned, riding harder and faster. She began to shift her hips forward and backward, enjoying the rub of his skin on her clitoris if she hit it just right. She started to reach towards orgasm, when Quardis stopped her. Pushing him off of her and onto the cushion, he pulled her up onto all fours.

"Suck him," he told her, pointing her head towards Darius. She paused a moment, this was something that she rewarded Darius with when he was being properly helpful, not something that she did randomly every time he was allowed to pleasure her. Quardis' hand gripped her neck and pushed her forward. His next trust into her pushed her roughly into Darius' crotch, bumping his penis on her cheek. "Suck him," Quardis repeated.

She opened her mouth and let Darius in. She heard him groan as he tangled his fingers in her hair. She began to suck as Quardis picked up his rhythm behind her. His movements shoved her forward and backwards on Darius' penis, and she heard grunts of enjoyment coming from both men.

She also felt her own desire heating up. There was something incredibly erotic about being used like this. Sexual liaisons were generally kept between two people, even in her society, though orgies were commonplace- just not discussed. But this, in a public place, with a very powerful man… she had never experienced such exquisite lust.

Deciding that the deed was done already so she just as well make the best of it, she turned her attention to enjoying suckling on Darius' penis while Quardis increased the pace of his thrusting behind her. Now he was driving into her, almost brutally, with complete focus on his own lust. She found that she had to do little work on Darius, the motion behind her bobbing her head up and down for her. She tasted precum in her mouth and enjoyed the flavor of it.

She wondered smugly how much longer Darius could take that treatment, until Quardis abruptly slowed behind her, then stopped. He pulled her backwards off of Darius, and told Darius to lay back. "Mount him," he then told her. She obediently climbed up until she was straddling Darius. Reaching down, she guided him into her.

Quardis, still behind her, shoved her forward against Darius' chest, and she was about to protest when she felt the head of his penis against her anus. She started to protest, but then it was too late. He pushed abruptly inside her, and she cried out in pain. He stopped moving, and on his instruction, Darius began to shift underneath her. As he began to stroke slightly in and out of her vaginal canal, she felt liquid heat return there.

Then Quardis began to move, too. For a few moments, she felt pain, but then it subsided, and she began to enjoy the feeling of having two men inside her. Quardis' movements caused her to shift forward and backwards, and again she was able to just ride it out and let him do the work of fucking Darius with her body.

When Quardis began to speed up, his body slapping hard against her hips, she felt herself working towards orgasm. She reached hers first, her vaginal canal spasming tightly on Darius, causing him to follow suit. She felt him throb and vibrate inside her, and was once more briefly annoyed. He wasn't allowed to do that, either, unless he had especially pleased her. Oh well, it just might turn out to be worth it.

Then Quardis sped up yet again, his hand once more on the back of her neck, the other one grasping her breast perhaps a bit too firmly for her tastes. Then he orgasmed as well, grunting as he shoved as deeply into her rectum as he could go, his penis also throbbing and jerking as it poured into her.

When Quardis was done, he pulled out of her and laid back on the cushion with a contented sound. Chalisse rolled off of Darius, and turned her back on him. Raising her head up on one elbow, she looked at Quardis. "So, perhaps if you have some time later, we could discuss a little problem I'm having," she said, doing her best to look sweet and charming.

The coldness of his voice surprised her when he responded, "Why on Azeroth would I have any interest at all in your problems?"

She managed to school her face back into placid sweetness, hoping she hadn't betrayed her surprise. She racked her brain for a moment, trying to think of something that might appeal to a man far more powerful and higher in social status than herself. Suddenly, she lit on it. It was a gamble, something she didn't want to give up, but it just might be worth it to get this man into her corner.

"Well," she said, "I have a very powerful scroll with an incurable curse that just might interest you." She felt Darius positioning himself against her back, but ignored him. She went on to explain to Quardis about the scroll she'd had made with the same curse on it that she'd had put on Nerissa. It was a single use scroll, granted, but very powerful, nonetheless.

He pondered for a moment before saying, "Perhaps we do have some things to discuss. Dress and meet me in the VIP alcove in a half hour's time."

Then he dressed and left. Chalisse could barely contain her excitement. With the backing of this man, she was certain that she couldn't possibly fail. Nerissa and Kel'Norat were as good as dead. For an unguarded moment, a feral, hateful smile crossed the perfect lips of the Lady Chalisse Mequa Trasamme.

* * *

Unaware of the plotting going on not more than a few yards from them, Ferruk, Nerissa, Nantu, Malovici, and Whitecrow rode from the Walk of Elders into the Royal Exchange. The sun shone brilliantly down onto the street, lined with small gardens, parks, and magic lanterns. An enchanted broom busily swept the street, ignoring them entirely as it scoured the paving stones of dust. Perfectly manicured topiaries and trees with leaves enchanted to be gold, red, or their usual green seemed to watch them in peaceful indifference as they ambled through the large city.

Statues in front of a store stared out over their heads, uncaring and aloof as they passed beneath them, their monolithic height causing one to strain upwards, should one desire to look at them more closely. Leaves drifted lazily down, dancing on the nonexistent breeze. When they rode past a city Guardian, he inclined his head politely towards Nerissa, "Miss Mequa."

At one point, they overtook and passed an Arcane Guardian, a massive walking statue of stone and magic. The 'boom, boom' of his clumping walk shook the ground as they passed and broke the unnatural quiet of the city. It said, in a canned, mechanical sounding voice, "Obey the laws of Silvermoon. Failure to do so will result in termination." The chilling presence of the Arcane Guardian ruined the surface tranquility of the city, undermining the overly forced perfection of its obsessively manicured scenery.

Trotting along the stone street, Ferruk looked up to see an elf ambling towards them on a fully dressed-out charger. The man stopped as he came into view, his steel blue hair shimmering slightly. "Well, hello there, Miss Mequa," he said silkily.

"Hello, Champion Vranesh," Nerissa responded coolly as they drew up a few feet away from him, her voice distant and sharp.

"You're looking particularly stunning today. I find myself wondering why you're wearing full plate, however. Off on some grand adventure?" he asked, clearly finding himself to be very debonair.

"These people are escorting me to Crystalsong Forest in Northrend," she told him, her voice still glacial and entirely unfriendly. Ferruk wondered how the man could miss the absolute chill running through her tone and showing on her face, but the fellow plowed blissfully onwards.

"Well, I'm certain that I could get leave to escort you, you know," he told her, nudging his charger closer to her gelding. The gelding snorted and tried to take the bit again. Nerissa, almost like a practiced horsewoman, tucked his chin into his chest as he started crowhopping away from the other animal. Unable to throw his head upwards, he couldn't rear and dump her as he clearly wished.

Champion Vranesh, for his part, yanked brutally backwards on his own mount's tender mouth, causing the horse to hop and prance, whinnying with pain at the insult to his tender lips. When the two got their mounts under control, Vranesh, now scowling slightly, said, "I would hate to see anything happen to you, Nerissa."

"I'm certain that the people my father has employed for the trip are more than sufficient," she told him.

"Well," he told her, entirely ignoring all of them but her, "I'm reasonably certain that they won't be nearly enough company for you. A woman has needs, and I doubt that any of them can really understand them."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "I truly appreciate such a sweet offer, Vranesh, really, I do. But, you see this gentleman over here?" She indicated Malovici.

Vranesh turned his cold, arrogant gaze on the Deathstalker, "Yes."

"Well, he has a bit of a tendency to fall apart now and then. Generally, I understand that this can be rather annoying, but…" she trailed off, tilting her head at Vranesh and closing her eyes in a slow blink, looking perfectly coquettish. She moved her horse a bit closer to the Champion, leaning slightly towards him. "His penis is detachable now, and he has promised that if I should get any such 'needs,' he will be happy to allow me to borrow it!" She clapped her hands suddenly, her face lighting up with a cloyingly sweet and excessively delighted smile, "It's that sweet?" she squealed, managing a bounce despite being dressed in plate and sitting on a horse.

A guard not far from them smothered a snicker, and Ferruk, Whitecrow, and Nantu also tried to contain their laughter. Malovici, on the other hand, simply bowed over the back of his dead horse as if such things were standard fare for him. "The offer stands indefinitely, Milady," he said ingeniously.

With an open snarl, Champion Vranesh jerked his horse away from them, setting off again at a stately, arrogant walk, looking down his nose at the guard who was still struggling to keep his laughter in check. The guard on the other side was doing better, until Vranesh rounded the corner.

Then, the whole group of them, including the guards and now Malovici, burst into outright laughter.

Ferruk was surprised at her, and found himself oddly resentful of the way the so-called Champion had treated her. Not that his own treatment had been better, but in a different way. As if the Champion wanted to use her and discard her, whereas Ferruk himself simply disliked her, but meant her no harm or actual abuse.

They rode on through the city towards the Sunfury Spire, Ferruk in the lead. The sooner they got out of the overly pristine city of the elves, the happier he would be.

In the wake of the confrontation, Nerissa was left trembling. As much as she hated Ferruk, she feared Vranesh. He was the brother to one of the cruelest men in Sin'Dorei society, one Quardis Del'Narik. She'd made it very clear to him many times that she was uninterested in his attentions. This episode was the least discreet of them all, him making allusions to them having sex right in front of her escorts and even the guards!

She was lost in thought the rest of the trip to the great Sunfury Spire. She'd long ago ceased to be amazed by the towering edifice. But this time, she looked up at it, oddly wanting to impress it upon her memory. She paused for a moment, staring up at it. It towered over them, the sun peeking over one of the elegant stone tiers. Birds circled the cream, gold, and red structure lazily, while golden leaves floated delicately through the air. The wings at the top were so tall that they nearly vanished into misty clouds.

They walked up the ramp towards the entrance then, and she wondered if this would be the last time she ever saw it. Her heart ached at the thought. The solemn Guardians on each side of them stood quiet as they passed, somehow impressing upon her the weight that this moment carried for her.

Ferruk's lesson that her life may well end on this trip had not been lost on her. And as they passed into the interior of the spire, she found it at first difficult to shake off the melancholy that had gripped her. But then she saw Halduron, Lor'themar, and Rommath. It was Grand Magister Rommath who had told her parents that the mages of Dalaran might be able to help release her from the curse.

She curtsied to Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron, and then turned to Halduron Brightwing, the Ranger General. She hugged him, knowing that he was married, but pretending to herself that he was seeing her off. She had been infatuated with Halduron for as long as she could remember. She'd never told anyone, but it was always there with her.

Turning to Magister Rommath, she also hugged him. He was far older than she, and had a very fatherly attitude towards her. She would miss him, as well.

Granted, she had left many times on various expeditions. Some of them far longer than this one would be, granted that she survived it. But this time, the leaving had an odd finality, especially knowing that her father had nearly died. She finally pulled back from Rommath, and he patted her on the cheek and kissed her forehead. "Everything is going to be fine, Nerissa," he told her.

She smiled back at him, and then turned to where the group was waiting on her, surprisingly patiently. They walked up the ramp, and teleported away into the Undercity.

When they stepped out of the porter, they were in the Ruins of Lordaeron. The decrepit stone walls seemed to leer at them as they once more mounted. The entire group was quiet as they headed out and towards the Undercity. The clatter and patter of their mount's hooves and paws was the only sound in the eerie courtyard.

As they left the small alcove that housed the teleporter, they went into a larger courtyard. This, too, however, spoke of decay and ancient memories. The ghosts of yesterday's nobility wandered unseen amongst the ruins of the walls that once housed them, the ruins of their once-rich history and lives.

Now, the echoing courtyard was abandoned, disrepair and disrepute hanging equally from it like the vines or the moss that slithered up the crumbling walls. Ferruk was never comfortable here; the air seemed perpetually chilly regardless of the real temperature. Malovici, on the other hand, seemed suddenly more real, more corporeal, in this place. Only his cadaverous form seemed to belong here.

The rest of them were living ghosts moving amongst dead memories and forgotten dreams.

Entering the ruins, patches of sunlight filtered in, dust dancing in the beams and bringing a surreal sense of stillness and hypocrisy to the place. Sunbeams in the heart of darkness, lighting up the corruption that laid over everything like fur on a fox.

Ferruk noticed that Nerissa pulled her cloak closer against herself, too, and knew the feeling behind it all too well. As they passed the ancient throne, whose king was long since nothing but dust, he felt a growing sense of trepidation. From here, they would enter the bowels of Azeroth, descending into the mad, unnatural world of the Forsaken.

They stepped past the guardians of the city gates, massive carcasses of once-rotting flesh that watched them with unwavering but distorted eyes. The process of decay had stopped, suspended grotesquely at a point where worms, now only unrotting carcasses themselves, hung from the open cavities of the abominations that they'd once fed on.

Once on the platform of the arcane lift, they were hurtled downwards, Nerissa's face going white as she inadvertently grabbed Ferruk's arm to steady herself against the sudden drop. He ushered her off the lift with a hand at the small of her back, and back past more abominable guards.

Fortunately, their goal was near, they needed the mailbox. Malovici had posted the satchels before the call to meet Ferruk at Fairbreeze, and thus they had only just arrived at a post box, well behind Malovici himself.

As quickly as they could, the majority of the group wanting to be on their way, they outfitted Nerissa properly for the grueling journey ahead. Food, drink, and reagents quickly filled one of her bags, and then they were once more in the arcane elevator. This time, Nerissa looked distinctly ill to Ferruk.

Apparently she was as ready to put this cold, dead necropolis behind her as he was. After another seemingly interminable trip, they left the leering, silently groaning walls of Undercity behind. They emerged into an area nearly as gloomy and dark, the sun struggling to penetrate the canopy of unhappy gray clouds.

Ferruk was relieved to get onto the Zeppelin away from here. He had no idea, of course, that despite its perpetual gloom, Nerissa was struggling with leaving this last remaining link with her home behind.

* * *

Quardis sat at the table, completely ignoring the woman between his legs as she worked her mouth up and down his penis under the table. It was, after all, just an appetizer, much like the delicate cakes he was eating. He looked at his brother, "What are you so pissy about, Vranesh?"

Vranesh looked up at him, his face petulant as usual. "Nerissa turned me down again today."

"So why don't you just take her?" Quardis asked, grunting slightly as the woman whose face was in his lap found a particularly pleasant spot. He rewarded her by bucking up into her mouth, enjoying the slight gagging sound she made. She wasn't the best at this, but she would do well enough for now.

"Well, first, she was guarded. Secondly, she's nobility, of quite a wealthy house." Vranesh looked pained, irritation showing at the idea that anyone, even a noble, could turn him down.

Quardis paused for a moment, his scrotum was now being slavishly licked, and he rather enjoyed that. "Which house?"

"Mequa Trasamme," Vranesh replied.

Quardis laughed suddenly, slamming his hand down on the table with delight, "Are you fucking serious?"

Vranesh looked at him, a bit less petulantly this time. "Yes, why?"

Quardis chuckled, "Well, I'll be damned. That's perfect, just perfect. I'll tell you what, I'll get her for you, and you can do whatever you want to with her. But, you have to promise to kill her when you're done with her."

Vranesh shrugged, "Sure, she deserves it after all the times she has cut me down, the arrogant little cunt."

"I spoke with her mother today, ironically. Mommy dearest wants to see her dead before she makes it to Dalaran. I'll be preparing a team later. I'll tell them to bring her back alive for you to enjoy." He laughed again, and grabbed the woman's head in his lap. He started humping against her face, driving his penis into her mouth roughly.

Until she started to gag, and he felt teeth. Then he jerked her head backwards and slapped her, hard. She started crying, and he shoved her face back towards his penis. She was, however, crying too hard to finish the job. Infuriated, Quardis grasped the delicate table knife and stabbed her in the throat with it.

He casually threw her aside as he left the room, ignoring the bloodstain on the carpet. Vranesh finished eating before he, too, left the room. Some time later, two men entered and took the corpse. Not far behind them was a maid who began to clean up the mess, trembling with the fear that she might be next to displease the master.

* * *

Kel'Norat began to make plans. He needed help to both survive, and to get his daughter here safely. That meant alliances, important ones. Hopefully powerful ones. But first, he had something important to take care of. Now that his wife had openly tried to kill him, he could take a lover.

And he'd loved someone for years now. He'd finally been free to send for her, and she was waiting for him at his apartments here in Dalaran. For the first time since he could remember, there was a sense of lightness and joy to his life. He still felt concern, even fear for his daughter.

But he also felt an intense joy that he would get to be with the woman he loved, at long last. He bounded up the last two steps, and she was there as he opened the door. Rushing inside, he shoved the door shut behind him with a foot. The look on her face, though, stopped him. Sharinia was terrified.

He looked into the room behind her then, and saw a man sitting on the sofa with a shotgun in his hand. "You must be Kel'Norat," the man said.

"Yes," Kel'Norat said, "and who are you?"

"Who I am really doesn't matter, all that matters is why I'm here," the hunter on the sofa said, his worg panting and watching Kel'Norat with vivid red eyes. "I'm here to kill you," he said calmly.

Kel'Norat grabbed Sharinia's hand, and darted for the door. The worg leaped up, racing towards them. Kel'Norat got the door open just as the beast leaped. Pushing Sharinia out the door, he took the brunt of the animal's charge himself.

Suddenly, a powerful bolt of blue hit the worg's side, and it rolled off of him, flopping end over end to slam against the wall a few feet away. A smoking hole had been burned all the way through the animal's side, leaving seared meat and white bone showing. The hunter made the mistake of charging out into the hallway, and a bolt barely missed him.

He threw up his hands, dropping the shotgun. The Dalaran mage who had responded to the use of force within their magical city led the man away. He looked at Kel'Norat with a mixture of hate and threat. Kel'Norat knew this was only the first of these attempts on his life.

Reaching out to Sharinia, he said, "Perhaps I shouldn't have brought you here. You could still be safe in Fairbreeze." He brushed a wisp of hair back from her face, and kissed her, long and slow.

She shook her head. "I'd rather die here with you, if it comes to that," she said. He was surprised at the feelings this simple statement called up in him.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Ferruk wasn't even sweating yet. His breath had hardly started to deepen, in fact. On the other hand, Nerissa was panting, her sword tip wavering and dipping repeatedly. This was a very bad sign, in Ferruk's book. When her broadsword started to fall again, Ferruk once more pushed the advantage, popping over it to land a stinging blow on her cheek with his mace.

Her eyes snapped and she brought the sword steady again. Ferruk nodded at her and pushed again. This time she parried his intended blow, ducking away. Unfortunately, in doing so, she once more left herself open, and Ferruk landed another blow on her torso.

"Stop already!" she yelled. "You're better than me, you've made your point!"

He stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that what you think this is about?"

"Girl's right," Nantu said, "yer bein' awfulla 'ard on 'er. You been nasty since da beginnin', mebbe she jus' tired ub it."

Ferruk looked at Nantu, surprised. "She's a spoiled little brat, why should I be any other way to her?"

With him distracted, Nerissa landed a sudden blow to his butt that actually knocked him slightly forward. With a single motion, he disarmed her, knocking the broadsword skittering across the floor. She just kept grinning, her arms crossed in front of her now.

The others, watching from the side rail, started tittering, and Ferruk turned a snarl their way. Suddenly Nantu found something immensely interesting in her fingernails, Whitecrow tried to smother his amusement by draping one large hand over his muzzle, and Malovici became very focused upon rewiring a knee.

Ferruk turned back to her and snapped, "Pick it up."

"Why, so you can humiliate and laugh at me some more? No thanks," Nerissa said, arms still crossed but face now set stubbornly.

Ferruk walked up to her. "This isn't about making a point, little girl, it's training." He stared into her eyes, and she backed away a step. He followed her. "You're going to die out here. You can barely hold up a weapon for more than two minutes."

He stepped closer again then. "Have you ever seen the halls of Naxxramas?" she shook her head. "Have you ever seen the Vault of Archavron?" Another head shaking. "Ulduar?" A frown and a reluctant headshake.

"I'll tell you why you haven't. Because you'd die there. You couldn't even tackle the harder parts of many of the infested ruins in Northrend. You've been over-protected, and now people who have visited and conquered those ruins will be coming after you. You either stand up to them, or you die. There's no middle ground."

He gazed at her intently, waiting for her inevitable temper tantrum. She looked up at him, the sun lining one side of her face, while driving the other into shadow. They stood looking at each other so long that Ferruk began to feel slightly uneasy. It was extraordinarily unusual for anyone to stare at him so long. Most would have turned away far before now. He began to shift his shoulders uncomfortably.

He heard the others leave, but kept looking down at her. When she was quiet like this, he could understand why she was considered a great beauty. Her coloring was unusual, her face soft and delicate. He felt his nostrils flare with the thoughts that were coursing through his mind, and knew which body part would express itself next.

Just as he was about to break the strange trance they seemed to be in, she said softly, "That's why you're here. You will protect me."

He looked at her for a moment. There was no guile or subterfuge hidden there, so far as he could see. It was a simple statement of trust and expectation. "Nerissa, this is very dangerous. The people who are hunting us are very dangerous, brutal, and cunning people. I could die, myself."

She blinked as if someone had slapped her, and went pale. "I don't want anyone to die for me," she said quietly.

"Then you have to learn to help, Nerissa. You have to try, you have to focus, you have to train. You need real combat experience, but training with us is the best I can provide for now." She looked up at him again, studying him in silence yet again. Ferruk found it a strange experience. People went to such lengths most of the time to avoid looking directly at him, usually preferring to simply pretend he wasn't there. His own people never stared at each other, it wasn't their way.

She continued to study him. Her eyes traveled over his face, and back to his eyes.

"Nerissa?"

"Yes?" her voice had gotten even quieter.

"Why are you staring at me?"

One of her elegant eyebrows rose, flickering upwards almost imperceptibly. "Why are you staring at me?" she countered.

Slowly, he grinned. "I don't think you'd altogether appreciate the reasons I'm staring at you. I'm sure I'm not the first man to do so, and I guarantee I won't be the last."

She didn't take the bait. "Hmmm," was all she said, still looking at him. "Why?"

He blinked. Was she really that naïve? "Why what?"

"Why, when you so clearly despise me, are you helping me?" she cocked her head to the side and watched him curiously.

It wasn't a difficult question, really, and he understood why she was asking it, but he was still taken aback slightly. It showed more caring and interest in others than he had expected from her. "Because it's my duty. I've been given a mission, and it's my duty to do it, and do my best, no matter how unpleasant it is." She winced and he filed that away for future consideration. "Besides which, your father has had to go to Dalaran, the only place he's even minimally safe right now. If I don't protect you, there's no one to do it."

"So? You could just leave and say that you tried but they got to me," she said, as if it were the most reasonable idea ever presented.

He scowled. "It's called 'personal integrity'," he told her. "To anyone with any degree of honor or sense of duty, what you just suggested is quite offensive."

"It's a reasonable course of action," she said. "Logical, intelligent, even wise."

Ferruk scowled harder. Did she really not get it, or was she baiting him as usual? "It's only reasonable if you're an unscrupulous elf with no higher morality than self-pleasure!"

Now she scowled back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I meant what I said. I'm no elf, little girl. I've got higher ideals than milking everyone around me for anything and everything they can give me. I live my life for duty, honor, and glory. That's why no matter how rich they ever get, or how powerful, you never see a happy elf. And why, on the other hand, despite the centuries of abuse orcs have taken at the hands of the other races, we continue to thrive and be happy."

She looked positively thunderous now, "Is that right?"

He crossed his arms. "That's right."

"You are such an asshole," she said. "I really hate you." Not waiting for his answer, she walked away. As she was turning, he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

What the hell had just happened?

"Yer too 'ard on da gurl," Nantu said, coming up behind him. Her bangles jingled as she walked, her hips swaying and her skirt swishing.

"She's been coddled too long," Ferruk said angrily.

"Tryin', dough, she be," Nantu told him.

"Well, 'trying' will just get her dead. She has to more than try," he snapped at her.

"A day, an' you tink she should be already skilled cuz is you teachin'?" her voice was ironic as she said it.

"She's barely putting any effort into it, because she hates me so much that she won't get past it and listen to me," he said sourly.

"Hates you?"

"That's right, she hates me. That's why she won't listen to me. She hates me because I actually make her work," he said with a scowl.

"You are tinking she hates you? Thas yer answer ta why she not skilled one day afta ya starts trainin' 'er?" her voice was incredulous.

He turned on her, "I don't expect her to be skilled, Nantu, just to put her hate of me aside and work on it with some real effort."

"Is you blinded by hate, F'ruk," she said to him. "Her be tryin ta please ya since ya played yer big joke on 'er. An' ere's you, bein nasty ta 'er an' refusin ta see dat she's tryin ta do 'er best fer ya."

"What would she be trying to please me for? She's got nothing but self interest," he said.

"She respects ya, F'ruk. Fer a gurl raised da way she was, it be showin' a lotta smarts for 'er ta be respectin someone like yerself. She been taught ta see ya one way, but she seein ya more clearly din ya can see 'er." Nantu's voice was irritated now.

Malovici joined them; standing on Ferruk's other side. "Troll's right," he said.

Ferruk snarled, not enjoying being ganged up on like that. "She hates me," he snapped, "and I hate her. She's—"

"Yeah, we've heard you many times, she's spoiled. But she does respect you, she looks to you for leadership and guidance," Malovici's echoing, cavernous voice made it sound like talking was difficult or unfamiliar to him. "I'm not sure that it's her prejudice that's getting in the way here," he finished, and loped away.

Even as Nantu followed suit and headed away, Ferruk felt ganged up on. Why didn't they go gang up on her?

Below decks on the Zeppelin, Whitecrow sat down on the bench beside Nerissa, who was fighting her tears. When he patted her gently, his furry hand warm and gentle, she started crying in earnest. "I'm tired… and sore… and scared," she said.

"Anybody would be," he told her.

"I just… want… to go… home," she managed between sobs.

"It felt safe there," he said, "but that was an illusion, Nerissa."

"I don't… care…" she blew her nose on the linen cloth he offered her.

"Did you feel any different when you left this time, Nerissa?" His voice was gentle, kind, resonant.

"Yes," she said.

He looked at her, his broad cow face sympathetic and understanding. "Something fundamental alters in a person when they finally, really understand their own mortality," he told her. "Even if you went back to Fairbreeze right now, there's no going back from here. It isn't life that has changed, just you and your understanding of it.

"I know, Nerissa, that you've technically been a woman for years now. But your understanding of life has finally grown into it, too." She looked into his warm brown eyes, and oddly felt better.

"I'm trying really hard, but I don't know what to do," she said, despondent and defeated.

"That's a good start. Knowing that you don't know helps make room for the knowledge to come in," he said. "When you thought you knew, you weren't trying. You had no reason to."

"He really hates me," she said.

"Does he?" Whitecrow mused. "I'm not so sure. He's trying pretty hard to get you straightened out. For all his talk, he's going well above duty in his attempts with you. Really, the only actual obligation he has is to get you there in one piece. He doesn't need to train you to do that. If he dies, you'll die, too, no matter how well trained you've been. Because you can rest assured that if he has died, the odds against us are overwhelming.

"I'm not convinced that he hates you. I'm not saying he likes you, but he obviously cares at least somewhat. And you two at least ceasing your constant sniping will make life easier for all of us. When you're in a situation like this, you have to be able to trust and be civil with the people you're traveling with.

"Ferruk knows this, and that's part of the whole problem here. He's caught between trying to teach you, and trying to keep some degree of peace here. His joke on you, however cruel, was meant to open your eyes to your own vulnerability and your own mortality. Now, he's trying to keep you from becoming dependent on others now that you realize you really could die.

"He's not being as big an asshole as he appears to be. On the same token, he's certainly not treating you with the courtesy that every person deserves. I hope that Nantu can talk some sense into him in that department."

"So talking to him was her job, and talking to me was yours?" When he started to protest, she held up a hand. "It's smart, and probably necessary," she said with a sigh.

His lips curled up, and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, definitely necessary. Happy now?" He chuckled, his rolling 'heh heh heh' that made her grin herself. "Thank you, Whitecrow, I feel better now." He patted her on the leg and clomped upstairs, his hooves echoing hollowly on the wooden planks, and his tail swishing back and forth under the cloak.

She felt not only grateful to him, but also a sort of rising affection.

* * *

He kissed her like the world was about to end. Pulling her against him, he held her head still, fingers tangled in her hair. His lips pressed urgently against hers, and his tongue danced against hers like a pick on a mandolin. He felt like he could melt into her softness as she pressed against him with an eagerness that equaled his.

Pulling his head back, Kel'Norat looked into Sharinia's eyes. He continued to hold her, his breath panting yet deep. Then he kissed her again, and let one hand slide down her back to hold her snugly against his erect penis. Unable to control himself, he felt his hips pressing rhythmically against her already.

Leaving her lips, his mouth traveled ravenously down her neck, nibbling, kissing, even licking. He felt her returning his kisses in kind, standing on her tip toes to reach for him, her arms pulling against him with as much desperate need as he felt. Pulling back, he fumbled like a schoolboy to release the lacings on her gown, and she fought the lacings on his tunic. Neither of them particularly cared how long it took; they were determined to undress each other.

At last when he managed to get the lacings undone and let her gown slide away from her, he was intensely gratified to see her glorious body standing in front of him. The dainty red underbodice she wore was also laced in the front at the center, a single lacing. It delicately caused her breasts to push upwards, mounding them into a succulent cleavage. It was so low cut that the pink crests of the top of her nipples peeked deliciously at him, winking and blinking with hints of secret delights. Below them, her matching red panties arched up the side of her body, exposing and accenting the delectable curve of her hips.

As she completed her task of removing his tunic, then his breeches, he pushed her towards the bed behind her. She walked backwards, slowly, as he both held her against him, but moved her backwards.

He couldn't stand to let go of her for even a moment.

When they arrived at the bed, her picked her up and laid her down on it, then followed her. Lying beside her, he began to nibble and caress her cleavage as the bodice kept it presented so sweetly to him, an offering to her lover. While he kissed her, he ignored her hand tangling in his hair to hold him close to her, and instead trailed the hand he wasn't leaning on down her body, enjoying the silken skin of her belly.

Trailing back up, he kissed her again, deeply, delightedly. Taking her lower lip between his teeth lightly, he tugged on it, then switched to diving into her mouth with his tongue, curling around hers in a sinuous, teasing manner. Letting go of her mouth a bit reluctantly, he kissed across her cheek until he found her ear. There, he nibbled up and down the long length of the pointed appendage, letting his hot breath tease her each time he reached the bottom of it.

He was gratified by her moans of delight and desire as he did so, and could barely control himself. He wanted to be inside her like he couldn't remember wanting anything in a long time. But he also wanted to draw it out, to please her, to adore her. He'd never felt like this before in his life, and he wanted to savor it indefinitely.

He finally let his fingers begin to work their way under her panties, slipping inside and caressing the mound at the juncture of her thighs. She moaned again and arched against his exploring hand, her hand grasping the comforter on his bed. He pulled back to look at her, to savor her beauty and sweetness.

She smiled at him, a look of love, lust, desire, and so many mingled but sweet emotions that it melted him. There was such a purity and sweetness in her, she was totally unlike anyone he'd ever known. "You are so beautiful, Sharinia. I love you."

"And I love you, my dear 'Norat," she said. She had never called him 'Kel' like his wife. She'd always called him 'Norat, and he loved it almost as much for the fact that it was so different from his unwanted, arranged marriage, as because it was one of her idiosyncrasies that made her… her.

His hand left her panties to travel up to her chest. With a mix of reluctance and eagerness, he released the lacing on the tiny underbodice and watched her beautiful breasts spring free. Their nipples stared at him with a come-hither look, and come-hither, he did. Sucking the nearest one into his mouth, he rolled it around, exploring it with his tongue.

He suckled on her breast for a moment, rubbing and kneading it with his hand as he did so. Letting go of that one, he let his hand slip over to the other one, and began to caress that one while his tongue and mouth still worked at the nearer one. His hand lifted it, then he tweaked at the nipple, bringing it to erect attention.

Finally, although he could have happily spent the rest of the day just playing with those beauties, he let his hand once again slide down her body and slip into the confines of her panties. This time, he passed her mound and slipped right into the wet, hot folds there. He was almost light-headed with desire, so was surprised when it intensified significantly upon finding that she was so wet that her panties were soaked with her own lubricant.

Standing up, he let his silk underclothes fall to the floor, and then pulled her panties down and off of her. Carelessly dropping them, he jumped back onto the bed, climbing between her legs. He looked up at her first, seeing her almost drowsy look. Her eyes were half-closed with desire, glowing almost blue with the lust that she was experiencing. He knew his eyes were probably nearly the same, if not even more tinged with the blue of lust.

Slowly, he slipped a finger back into her folds, watching her and delighting as she arched backwards, her eyes drooping closed as he found her clitoris and began to tap and flick his finger on it. Her breathing deepened, becoming erratic and rapid. She alternated between panting and moaning, and he grinned with delight at his power over her.

Then, he left off watching her face so that he could watch his fingers on her as he pulled her labia open and began to rub up and down, sliding his fingers, then taking the inner lips into his fingers and running up and down those, pinching enough to be pleasurable, but not painful. By now, she was squirming and gasping, her body arching and twisting as if to invite him into her.

Finally, he could wait no longer, and took up the invitation, diving down to lick and suckle at the small bead of her clitoris. She gasped and began to moan with increased intensity, and he slipped a finger inside her. As she felt it enter her, she gasped out, a bright, sharp sound, "Oh!" Smiling against his mouthful of soft flesh, he began to work the finger in and out.

"'Norat, I…" she gasped again as he flicked her clitoris with his tongue, "I want to…" she trailed off yet again as he curled the finger inside her to tap on the top of her vaginal canal, lighting up the nerves there with pleasure.

"Mmmm?" he asked against her, making her arch again and cry out.

"I want to taste you, too," she managed to pant out at him, and he pondered for a moment. To feel her touch on him would be distracting in the extreme, and he wanted to focus on pleasuring her. He was deliriously delighted at the power he had to make her arch and squirm. It was a new sort of power, heady and delicious in its own right.

"Please!" the almost plaintive way she said it, voice colored with a deep, hoarse lust, made his decision for him. He moved to lie down on the bed, but when she went to move between his legs, he shook his head.

He pulled her up to his face again, until she was straddling him, her beautiful treasure essentially sitting on his face. She was much shorter than him, however, so he moved the pillows so that they would push his face up into her so that she could reach his penis. He dove back into her folds then, enjoying this new position considerably.

When her tongue touched his penis, he grunted, fighting to control the intensity of his yearning. He struggled for a moment to keep from thrusting up against her, feeling his penis twitching with desire. She licked him again, gathering up his precum, and he distracted himself by delving into her again, else he lose control over himself.

As he felt her lift his scrotum and begin rolling his testicles inside it, he slipped a finger back into her. She surrounded his penis with her soft, small, warm hand, and he ran his tongue the length of the valley between the folds of silken flesh. He could feel her becoming engorged with blood, her labia standing up past the soft outer lips now. He was pleased with his work, knowing this to be a sign of intense arousal.

As she took him into her mouth, he gasped and this time was unable to prevent his reflexive thrust upwards into her mouth. She moaned, and he felt more wetness trickle into his mouth. He bucked again as her moan vibrated through him, and she made small suckling, slurping sounds as she compensated for his sudden, uncontrollable movement.

For a moment, he paused in his exploration of her as she began to suck on him, her head bobbing and slurping. The sounds, the feelings, the sight of her exposed and gloriously uninhibited in his face… he felt it driving him towards a climax. Which he really didn't want—he wasn't done with her yet by a long shot.

He went back to distracting himself (sort of) with the soft folds of her labia, the pearl of her clitoris, and the secrets of her snug vaginal passage, which he was even now delving into again with his finger. His focus continued to shift between her hands and mouth on him, and his hand and mouth on her.

Finally, he could take it no longer. He began to intensify his motions on her, until he felt her stop her own actions. She began to gasp and moan faster, and he flicked his tongue rapidly over her clitoris, driving his finger in and out and rubbing it roughly against the top of her vaginal canal where the large bundle of nerves would be lighting her up with intense sensation.

Shortly, his work was rewarded with a sudden gush of fluid. To his surprise, given that so far her sounds had been gasps and moans, she cried out, "Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes!" in nearly a shriek. When she subsided, but before she returned to his penis, he rolled her over and off of him.

Fortunately, she was in the perfect position now, so that all he had to do was pull her up onto his lap, her hips against his as he looked down at her again, watching as he slid his penis up and down against her before sliding it very slowly inside her. He looked up and watched her face as he pushed relentlessly into her.

When he was buried fully inside, his scrotum lying against her body, he stopped and watched her. When she began to wriggle against him, he leaned forward, propping himself up with his arms. He drove into her over and over again, watching her beautiful face as she met him stroke for stroke, her body arching and pushing against him.

For a moment, he just stroked her vaginal canal with his penis, then he began to put a small shift at the end of the thrust, so that he would thrust into her, then his hips would turn upwards, driving him just a bit deeper inside her. It also had the benefit of rubbing his skin against her clitoris. The thrust of his hips at the end seemed to drive her wild, her legs clamping around him and her fingernails digging into his arms where she was holding onto him.

He alternated the pace, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and began to slap against her with increasing frequency and intensity, still watching her lust-filled face as he did so. Her moans and breathing were speeding up, and he felt fierceness well up in him. He began to ride her hard, with complete abandon, his need to fill her overwhelming his mind and pushing out everything else.

Finally, with a shout, he felt his penis nearly burst with the intense orgasm as his testicles pushed their creative fluid into it, and it dutifully filled the woman under him with sperm, pushing it out in an intense wave of pleasure. When he had filled her with all he had to offer, his penis throbbing with delight, he collapsed on her, holding himself up slightly by the elbows to keep from crushing her.

A moment later, he rolled off of her, sweat still dripping from him and dampening his hair. He started to pull her against him, when she slithered down his body. "I want to taste us," she said, and began to clean him with her tongue. He gasped and arched… with that simple statement and action, he was ready to do it all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Ferruk walked towards the back of the Zeppelin, and then changed his mind. He stopped to look out over the railing at the water passing by below them. Then he looked up at a passing cloud, pristinely white in the blue sky. It was a beautiful day, though it was beginning to get cooler.

"May I join you?" He turned at Nerissa's voice, and gestured at the railing beside him. He turned once more to look out and watch the waterbeasts below as they cavorted in the clear blue-green waters. She stepped up beside him. "Whitecrow talked with me," she said, leaving the comment open-ended, a pregnant silence between them.

"It seems that our companions have seen fit to negotiate a truce for us," Ferruk said.

She looked at him then, and he met her eyes with his. She smiled, and he was surprised at the warmth that suffused her face when she did so. Once more she was staring at him, and once more he was acutely uncomfortable. He blinked at her steadily, returning her stare.

"I've never known an orc before," she told him. "I've been pretty rude."

"Really? Coulda fooled me," he said acidly.

"Well, you won't exactly be teaching any etiquette classes anytime soon, yourself," she said tartly. He scowled, looking at her.

"I got chosen for this business, I didn't choose it," he said. He looked back out over the water, but could sense her still watching him. "I guess I was absent the day they were teaching everyone the right way to treat someone who calls you an ugly rapist the moment they meet you. Not really something that brings up an immediate affection in a guy."

Why did she keep staring at him like that?

She stood silently beside him for another few moments, moments that began to stretch out longer and longer. Finally he turned on her, "Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm not," she said, "I'm just looking at you, it's not the same thing."

He scowled at her, "Is too."

"No, it isn't." She crossed her arms.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"See, there you go again," she said. "I'm being perfectly polite, and you're carping at me."

"Me? You're the one staring!"

"Ahem!" an exaggerated cough sounded from behind them, and they both turned to find all three of the others in their party glaring pointedly at them.

"You two are acting like children," Whitecrow said.

"Are not!" "Am not!" Ferruk and Nerissa said, respectively.

Whitecrow just shook his black mane and turned away. Nantu turned a very pointed glare on Ferruk and followed Whitecrow.

Malovici said, "Good show! I'm having fun watching it, carry on!"

"I'm not staring," she said, turning back to look out over the water.

Ferruk scowled at her and walked away. He found her constant, direct appraisal to be entirely uncomfortable.

For her part, Nerissa couldn't understand anything that was happening. She found him infuriating, yet she could see Whitecrow's point.

She also found herself oddly drawn to him on a nearly continuous basis. Something about him appealed to her. And although in a technical sense, he really was ugly, she couldn't help but study him. There was a primitive wildness about him, coupled with a sense of weighty wisdom and intelligence that drew her to him almost instinctively.

His matching skin and eyes, together with his dark red-black hair, seemed somehow very natural. As if he could blend in with nature and become one with it, a melding of the primal with intelligence and power.

Like all of her people, she was attracted to power, but unlike most of her people, she had no real overwhelming urge to indulge it at every single moment. But the more she studied him, and as she watched him while he trained her, the more she began to understand the instinctual draw of power.

She turned to watch him again, finding it difficult not to. He moved with easy grace, despite being easily three times her size. And although the way he treated her was irritating in the extreme, she also found it to be oddly refreshing. She was tired of being caged, even in a gilded cage, and somehow the way he treated her hinted of freedom and possibilities.

Part of it was as Whitecrow had said; Ferruk was pushing her towards independence. Another part of it was because the man himself exuded the essence of streams and rivers, meadows and valleys, mountains and moors, fields and forests. The color of his skin and the scent that followed him everywhere, the magic that clung to him, his sheer beastly power… it all spoke of an irrepressible spirit.

While she… well… she was just a lost soul. She had begun to realize that she had no ambitions, no goals, no desire even. She'd spent her life doing what she was told, and occasionally trying to break out and get things her own way. She didn't get to have goals or ambitions; they'd already been established for her. She was the heir to the dynasty, and heirs did this, and heirs did that… and when she became mistress of the dynasty, mistresses of dynasties did this, and mistresses of dynasties did that.

What they did not do was get tied to trees, make perverted jokes, anger powerful men, or fight on the decks of Zeppelins.

And they most certainly, above all else, did not find an orc—any orc—interesting. They definitely weren't curious about them. Not that she was.

The odd turn her mind had taken that morning when he'd said he'd taken care of himself while thinking about her under him was simply idle speculation, nothing more. She couldn't possibly be even slightly attracted to him, he was an orc.

She looked back out over the water for a bit, not noticing when her eyes wandered back to watching him chatting with Nantu.

The closer they got to Vengeance Landing, the colder the air got, until first Nerissa and then the others donned their warm winter cloaks. As they stepped off, Nerissa looked off the landing platform. A Forsaken ship sat not far off shore, its ragged sails and rotting deck giving it the look of a ghost vessel on an eternal voyage to nowhere.

The wind whipped across the platform harshly, moaning and groaning through the mammoth Zeppelin landing tower. The sound chilled her in its mournful simplicity, and she drew the cloak around herself to ward off the chill of both the wind and its forlorn howl. Unconsciously she stepped closer to Ferruk, her nerves already strung tight from the journey.

A distant 'boom!' startled her, and then she felt foolish. The last time she'd been here, the Alliance and the Horde had been allies (albeit reluctant ones). This time, though, they were enemies, and from the news she'd heard, Vengeance Landing was under constant siege from both directions.

Looking off the other side of the moaning platform, she could see puffs of smoke rising, and as she watched, two more rose into the sky. She shivered to think what the cause of them might be.

Then they were moving, Ferruk leading the way down the wooden planks that seemed to absorb and then dissipate their footsteps, rather than echoing with them like most wood would do.

Trying to break her own tension, she said to Ferruk, "Are you sure you're not going to throw me off the side and just be done with it?"

He stopped and looked at her, then suddenly she was scooped up, and he moved towards the railing, looking down at her. "That's an excellent idea!"

She grinned at him, even as her heart seemed to skip a beat at his proximity. She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "I know you won't do it. But if you really want to carry me down, I don't mind." She smirked as he scowled at her.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked, the others sighing and continuing down without them.

"Well, first off, doing it on the Zeppelin would have been smarter—no pesky corpse to give you away. Secondly, duty and honor and all that." He was still holding her, but not moving.

"You have a very devious and frightening mind, little girl," he told her. Then, as if he suddenly realized he was still holding her, he set her down.

She followed him down the wooden tower, winding in, around, under, and through the odd architectural malfunction that some dead mind had thought would be great fun for visitors. She found it disorienting, and stopped often to take note of where she was, which way she faced, and to wonder if the disorienting factor were the real intent behind the bizarre structure.

When she reached the bottom, she was chilled once more, the wind biting and stinging at her eyes as its howl intensified. They began moving towards the inn, bundling together to break the wind for each other. They slowly rode past the apothecary building as it leaned over them, its entrance looking like the maw of a ravenous beast searching for unwitting passers-by to pounce upon.

Above them, electricity popped and spat as it arched between the strange bulbs of pulsating, abhorrent gel that decorated the top of the stooping building. The sounds were grating and slightly threatening as they passed, cutting through the howling wind like distant gunfire.

Even Nerissa's gelding seemed subdued now, his worst behavior being chuffing nervously at the bit as they passed. A small fire blazed in a stone ring, but the wind was so bitter that it offered no comfort at all. Indeed, as if to offset the cheer of the fire, the ragged sails of another Forsaken vessel sitting against the docks flapped in the breeze, their unnaturally decrepit and dirty appearance haunting and eerie.

They passed another building that might once have been a library or other building of note. Now, its filigreed exterior had fallen into disrepair and misery, bits of broken rock strewn like tears at its base.

Nerissa gripped too hard on the reins, the whole place making her nervous this time around. Whitecrow was right, everything looked different to her now, though she knew intellectually that they were the same. This place was no longer simply an interesting and new experience. It had become sinister and even vaguely frightening.

When they approached the inn, Nerissa was greatly comforted, knowing that although it was a cold and damp place, at least they would be inside and able to start a fire. A fire to sit in front of and warm her feet at sounded absolutely divine to Nerissa at that moment.

When they reached the entrance to the inn, they dismounted and began to head inside, only to be stopped by a shout which they at first thought was meant for themselves, "Archers at the ready! Hold your fire! What fool dares enter her majesty's dominion unannounced?"

They looked towards the sound, and Ferruk recognized the putrefied form of High Executor Anselm. The extraordinarily tall man that approached him, however, was unfamiliar. The man laughed, a cruel, harsh laugh, "Ah, but it is you who intrudes upon our Master's territory. He could wipe you out in an instant for that transgression alone! Arthas does not have much love or patience for his escaped slaves."

The man's voice was slightly accented, urbane and warm, in direct contradiction to his chilling words. "But… he has learned of your victory over Stormwind's North Fleet and thinks that you have potential. Potential to see reason and abandon Sylvanas' childish rebellion.

"Arthas is prepared to offer you power beyond your imagination. The puny army you lead here would pale in comparison to the phalanxes at your command if you returned to the Scourge's embrace.

"Behold the Vrykul! A race that has perfected war and destruction to the point of an art form. Already they've cast their lot with the Lich King! Their dwellings surround you and their numbers are easily five times yours." He indicated the huge men who had approached with him, a race that all of the party was all too familiar with. The four men roared and postured aggressively.

Then he continued, "The choice is yours, Anselm. Return to the Lich King's army and fight alongside them, or remain loyal to your so-called queen and suffer their wrath as they drive you from their homelands!"

Anselm's voice was filled with anger as he responded to the unnaturally tall high elf in front of him, "Is that all you've come to say?" Silence fell as he waited for a response, but the massive elf just folded his arms and stared from behind the veil that made him look as if the bottom of his face was just gaping teeth and blood.

Anselm gestured to his men before pointing at the man and telling the archers behind him, "Send these scumbags back to hell! Fire at will!"

Nerissa gasped and stepped back as the scene unfolded. The huge elf lifted his hand and the arrows slowed until their movement was nearly imperceptible. Then suddenly he was behind the Vrykuls that had been behind him but an eyeblink before. Just as suddenly, the arrows resumed their course at their previous speed, and the Vrykuls' lives were snuffed out in an instant.

Still alive, the other man shook his head, his voice now cold and harsh, "Such a futile gesture."

He lifted his sword and spoke an incantation. In a twinkling, all of the archers standing behind High Executor Anselm fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Just as fast, they were gone. But the part that made Nerissa gasp again and turn away, was the obvious suffering of their souls as they were visibly drained from the corpses that had just died for the second, and final time. They howled and shrieked as they were sucked into the unholy blade the man was wielding.

As he siphoned their lives away as casually as a drink of water, he said, "Listen to your men's dying breaths as I drink in their souls.

"This will not be the last you hear of me. I will return to spit on your corpse after Utgarde's armies have descended upon you."

Then he teleported away, and an unnatural quiet fell over the clearing as Nerissa stood trembling from the swiftness and fury of the encounter, leaving only the grieving wind to speak.

As they watched, the man who had been speaking to High Executor Anselm a moment before the intruder approached cast a spell and was gone, leaving Anselm swearing vociferously at nothing. Ferruk approached him, waiting for him to calm himself. "What's going on?"

High Executor Anselm turned to him, his pallid, decayed skin tight over the bones of his face. "We've just defeated Stormwind's North Fleet, and then along comes Prince Keleseth to 'invite' me to return to the embrace of that horror King of his. Just as soon as one thing gets settled, and it seems we're making progress, something like this has to happen!

"And to make matters worse, as soon as Quincy saw that, he bailed on me before I could ask him to hunt that trash down. We're in real trouble if we don't get him rooted out of the Keep, but fast."

He was clearly deeply concerned, his lifeless face animated despite its funereal existence. "I've been getting reports back that he's holed up in there," he paused a moment, "from the few who return, that is."

"You're going to have to go in there and kill him, Ferruk," Anselm said.

"I can't, High Executor, I'm on an escort mission, I have to see this woman to Dalaran," Ferruk told him.

"Who are you reporting to right now?" Ferruk and been in Anselm's command a couple of years before, so they knew each other fairly well.

"Captain Eziel," Ferruk answered.

Anselm cocked his head slightly, and Ferruk assumed he was bespeaking the Captain in question. All races on Azeroth were born with crystals in their pineal glands that enabled them to speak to each other once they had met once or been in proximity of someone who had met them. It was this attunement crystal that Anselm activated now, discussing the issue privately with Eziel.

"Well," he said at length, "we both understand the importance of your mission. And ma'am, I'm sure that you're in a real rush to get to Dalaran. Unfortunately, we cannot put the will of one person above the fate of this entire region. If Keleseth is not stopped, the chances are great that we will be over-run.

"You are going to have to do it, Ferruk. And this is going to take an heroic effort on your part, because this is no simple uprising. Keleseth is a highly cunning adversary. And unfortunately, you are the only ones in the area with enough power to face him. I have no one else to spare, and no one around to even hire. I'm really sorry, but there's little choice in this matter for any of us."

Ferruk frowned. The delay would make it easier for Nerissa's enemies, and harder for them. Yet on the other hand, he couldn't simply evade this duty. It was far too important to far too many people.

"If you need to leave the woman here while you go, it is acceptable. I cannot, however, guarantee her safety to any higher degree than I can guarantee anyone's safety in this place," Anselm told him.

Ferruk looked at Whitecrow, and then back to Anselm. He shook his head, "No, she will have to come with us," he said. He didn't like it, but the fact of the matter was, she could use the genuine combat experience, and he dared not leave her here unprotected. And while Anselm was an incredibly competent officer, the fact remained that he had far too much to take care of to concern himself with Nerissa's safety.

And if Ferruk left her and she died, he would forever be responsible. Not that he wouldn't be responsible if she died on the mission, but at least there, he had a fighting chance of keeping her alive. To leave her behind was simply not acceptable, and through the attunement crystal, he asked the others. They vehemently agreed, somewhat to his surprise. In particular, Whitecrow seemed strongly opposed to leaving her and Nantu's response was a flat, unequivocal negative.

"What do you want?" he asked Nerissa. He was surprised to see her blink as if the question confused her. "Do you want to stay or go with us?"

She looked at him, that same steady, unwavering regard that so unnerved him. "I think I'd rather go," she said.

And so it was settled. She would go with them, and come what may, they'd live or die together. He saluted Anselm and they went inside the inn. They would head out the next day.

Nerissa had just assumed that she'd be made to go when Ferruk said, 'No, she will have to come with us,' and was surprised when he asked what she wanted. Decisions had been made for her for so long that she didn't really know how to respond to someone asking her what she wanted.

And she wasn't entirely sure what she did want. It seemed smarter to go with them, to stay near people she knew were protecting her. But the thought of staying at the inn, comfortable and warm and safe and snug also held its own appeal.

But the thought occurred to her that if she stayed all nice and safe and secure in the inn while others went off to do the hard work, she would prove herself to be as spoiled as Ferruk constantly claimed. It seemed to her that she wasn't all that fond of hearing how spoiled she was, and that she wanted to prove him wrong.

Underneath it all, though, she was scared. The world suddenly seemed bigger and far more sinister to her. Even in this place, she had watched the souls of men drained like water through a sieve. Where there should be safety, there was horrific death. She followed silently, lost in thought, as they went into the room that Ferruk had reserved for her and Nantu.

She walked over first thing and lit the fireplace. She was so cold now that tremors ran up and down her body. Nantu pulled the comforter off of the bed and brought it over for her. Grateful for the other woman's kindness, Nerissa smiled. It seemed less like something that someone should just do for her, and more like a genuine kindness than it once would have.

Nantu sat down herself, and relaxed with her feet towards the fire. She took her hair out of its bright blue braids and began to brush it. "Bath ought ta be 'ere soon," she said. "They says will be slow, dough, cuz dey jus maked up da bath in da men's room. Den da peoples dat was gonna stay dere left. We coulda taked dat room, but it da on'y one dat gots t'ree beds."

Unbeknownst to Nerissa, Ferruk had actually considered sleeping in the common barracks-style men's room, but had changed his mind only because the rooms they had gotten were adjacent to one another. If Nerissa was attacked at night, however unlikely the scenario, Ferruk wanted to be close enough to protect her.

So he had accepted the extra expense to get them semi-private rooms. Now, Nantu and Nerissa comfortably sat in front of a warm fire waiting for a bath. They chatted for a while, and Nerissa learned that Nantu really was now a vegetarian. She was deeply spiritual, believing that she could increase her communion with nature through her choice.

She explained that she felt that taking lives was sometimes necessary, but she would only do so as necessary. She felt that this respect for nature and living things made her a better healer, and Nerissa found herself intrigued by this idea. As a blood knight, she had felt a degree of dissatisfaction with the teachings that centered on manipulating Holy magic for ones own gain.

She filed the idea away for later consideration, and asked about the others.

"Well, Ferruk be also a shaman, but we be very dif'rent, me an' him. Fer him, he uses da energy gift nature provides ta strengthen hisself and batter at da en'my. Hims uses da energies ta accent hims own physical powah. W.C. be da one dat stands at da fore, takin' da beatins so dat da res' of us is not gettin' beat ourselfs." Nerissa had suspected that Whitecrow was a warrior, and this confirmed it for her.

"An' den dere's Mal. Mal be da Deathstalker. Hims is a killer, an' make no mistake on dat, gurl. Dat one nobuddy knows, and dat's da way hims likes tings. I gonna tell yas right now dat he a myst'ry, and dat I dun trus' him, and I dun tink anyone else trus' him neither. Da man lubs death, an' any who lubs death ain't summat to be triflin' wit."

Nerissa felt better knowing a bit more about what roles they each had in the coming confrontation. Now, if she could just get that bath…

* * *

Quardis was on the bed when Vranesh came in. He was roughly slamming into one young 60-something elf, while she had her face buried between the legs of another one. Vranesh paused to watch a moment before sitting down in the overstuffed chair beside the bed and pulling his own penis out of his breeches. He started stroking himself as he watched Vranesh and the two young women. So far as he could tell, they were twins, which he found to be a bit distracting.

So distracting, in fact, that Quardis snapped harshly at him, "Are you listening to me?"

Vranesh blinked at him, "No."

"Well, fucking start listening," Quardis said.

Vranesh glared at him, and tried to concentrate. Quardis repeated himself, "I've come up with a new plan for our dear Chalisse," he told Vranesh. "And it involves that little bitch you're all hot after."

Vranesh grunted, he was still stinging over her blatant cut down of him right in front of everyone. "What about her?"

Quardis stopped to watch the woman on the bottom orgasm, then continued, "You're going to marry her," he told Vranesh.

"I don't want to marry her, I just want to fuck her," Vranesh complained.

"Well, you're going to marry her, and then we're going to kill that bitch of a mother of hers," Quardis told him, his voice final and sharp.

"We're going to let her do the work of getting rid of the father, with our help of course, she's too incompetent to do it herself," he said. "Then, you're going to marry the daughter after we kill Chalisse. Once that's done, you can play with her however long you want, then kill her off."

"Why would we bother? That's kind of risky," Vranesh said.

"Because her father—and I'll have to remember to thank him for this before I kill him—has managed to grow her estate to the point where it's extremely wealthy. I suspect, in fact, that they're one of the wealthier families around right now," Quardis told him.

"Really?" Vranesh actually paused the important function of stroking himself to consider the possibilities of this revelation.

"Added to our own holdings, it would make us the single most wealthy family in all of Silvermoon." Quardis grunted then, "I'm going to cum, girls," he said. The twins shifted around, kneeling eagerly in front of him like a pair of lapdogs. He stroked his penis a few times until his orgasm finally came. He watched as his sperm drenched their faces, some of it hitting their tongues, but a lot hitting their cheeks and chins.

They started to kiss then, but he was over it. "Go clean up, you look like whores," he said.

"Yes Quardis," the girls chirped in unison as they left the room to go into the attached lavatory. He nodded at one of the men flanking the inside of the main door to the bedroom, and that man followed the girls into the lavatory. Shrieks, cut off abruptly, echoed from inside. The man came back out and resumed his post.

"What'd you do that for? They were twins, I woulda liked to have some fun with them!" Vranesh complained.

"Don't worry, there's more where they came from. They heard our plan, so they couldn't be allowed to leave," Quardis said. "So, are you ready to become the doting husband?"

Vranesh grinned and nodded. Oh, he was ready all right. It was a perfect proposition, there was no way it could go wrong.

* * *

The minutes ticked away as Nerissa and Nantu chatted. Finally, after nearly an hour, Nerissa was tired and fed up with waiting. Using her minor attunement crystal, she asked the innkeeper how long it would be before the bath was delivered. He informed her that it would be some time yet, as the pipes on the pump had frozen, and they were trying to thaw them even now.

Slightly miffed at missing the opportunity for a decent bath in a comfortable place, Nerissa made a decision. Getting up, she opened the door into the men's room. Ah, there it was, the tub! Stripping the rest of the way as she crossed the room, she sank into it with a contented sigh. It was still warm, even!

Blissfully oblivious, she ignored the open-mouthed stares of the men, even Malovici surprised by her behavior.

Nantu paused a moment, considering, then with a shrug, she let her robe drop and meandered across the room, her blue skin shimmering in the light the lamps were casting. She didn't really want to wait for the bath, either, and since Nerissa had already barged her way in and plopped down in it, why not she, as well?

Soon both women were sitting contentedly in a tub large enough for an orc or a tauren… or two women. They washed themselves enthusiastically, neither of them paying any mind to the three men who now watched them with various degrees of interest. First to turn away and go back to his reading was Whitecrow. Shortly thereafter, Malovici began sewing a bit of forearm skin back on, a bit awkwardly, as he only had one hand to use.

Ferruk, on the other hand, watched with open interest. Both women had their attractive qualities, and if they were going to openly flaunt them, then he wasn't going to decline the invitation to watch them do so. Particularly, he found Nerissa's dark skin enchanting, her cool green eyes sparkling out from her warm dark skin and fiery hair.

Her breasts were full and round, not necessarily large unless you compared them to her small frame. Her belly was flat, leading the eyes down to the luscious curve of her hips. Long legs plunged downwards to where small feet pattered across the floor and into the tub. Her hair fell just past her shoulders, though by this point, it was lying across the back of the tub, wet from being washed.

Her eyes were half closed as she leaned back against the tub, her head pillowed on the rim of it. Ferruk's mind naturally went to other places upon seeing the look of sheer pleasure on her face. He groaned as he became immediately and almost forcefully hard, his penis pressing urgently against the breeches he wore to sleep in. Whitecrow looked up at him and grinned, knowing exactly what his problem was.

Ferruk rolled over and looked at the ceiling of the cold stone room, far overhead, trying to ignore the presence of the two women despite their chatter.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity to him, but such an unpleasantly short time to her, Nerissa got up and toweled off and returned to her and Nantu's room. Nantu followed behind her, shutting the door with an audible 'click.' Ferruk was immensely pleased to have the room to himself, Malovici, and Whitecrow again.

Returning to their room, Nerissa sat once more before the fire, feeling much improved by the bath. Her mind was on the thing that had been bothering her for much of the day, though. At last, hoping she could help her sort it out, Nerissa said to Nantu, "I don't understand why my father did this. I would think I'd be safer at home with all my guards. Why would he send me out with a group of hoi polloi, when I had so many guards at home?"

Nantu looked at her, "Holy pilly? What is holy pilly?"

"Well," Nerissa said, suddenly uncomfortable and afraid she had offended, "you know, common people."

Nantu's eyebrows rose up towards her forehead. "You are tinkin we common folk, eh? Dis why you be treatin' us wit disrespec'?" When Nerissa made to protest, Nantu continued relentlessly, "You be tinkin we be beneat' yas, so ya be treatin' us like dat. Ya be tinkin' dat Ferruk be da holy pilly, and you be da big shit, huh?

"Let me tell you summat, gurl. Ferruk be da spiritchul leadah of his clan. Even da mighty Thrall, hims what leadah ub all da horde, be listenin' ta wut Ferruk be advisin' sometimes. In da big pictah ub tings in da horde, gurlie, da Ferruk be da high big one, you be da holy pilly.

"Don't nobody in da horde trus' da elfs. Wants ta know why dat be? I tells you. Me ask you question, you answer. Yer granpoppy and yer granny, dey be dead, yah?"

Nerissa nodded, "Yes."

"An if ya daddy was ta die, den who be gonna get all yer fam'ly's money?"

"I inherit it all, either way," Nerissa answered.

"An if ya be dead, an yer daddy be dead, den who get all dat big monies?" Nantu inquired shrewdly.

"My mother inherits if my father and I die," Nerissa said.

"So den, now you knows why yer daddy sended you away, and why nobody trus'ing da elfs. Cuz anyone who is gun kill her child so's she can steal big monies dat not hers… dis disgusting to alla us." Nantu told her coolly.

"You be remem'brin' dat you is the holy pilly, from a race what try to kill dere own fam'ly to steals money. An' don't try ta tells me it only be yer fam'ly, cuz ev'ryone know it ain't."

Nerissa's mind was reeling. She had a hard time focusing on what Nantu was saying because of her accent, but somehow, the over-all message came through loud and clear. She couldn't believe it. She simply couldn't. "My mother loves me!" she said defensively.

"Why you so sure she do?" Nantu asked.

"Because she always tries to make sure I have everything I want. She brings me gifts, and she always stands up to my father, who keeps trying to keep me from doing things or having things," Nerissa said.

"An' you tink dat lub means ya gibs someone whatevah dey be wantin', wit'out bein' sure dat it be good fer dem? Yer daddy be tryin' ta teach ya kindness and ta keep ya from troubles, but ya tinks is yer mother who lubs ya cuz she gibs ya anyting ya be wantin' even if it be bad fer ya?" Nantu shook her head. "Foolish gurl."

Nantu went to bed then, and Nerissa sat in the chair, struggling with the sudden understanding that brought an ache to her heart. Long after Nantu's breathing deepened and became even and deep, Nerissa sat quietly watching the fire as it popped and crackled with red, gold, yellow, and white heat.

Somehow, it wasn't as comforting anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

At last, she realized that she needed to walk it out. It was something she'd done since she was a little girl. When something deeply distressed her, she would go for a walk. It was cold outside, so she wouldn't go outside, she decided. She would just walk the halls, and then hopefully she'd be able to go to sleep. The exercise would tire body and mind, and she would feel better.

She got up and quietly put on a tunic and some breeches. She had little with her, but she did have these comfortable things to sleep in, and if she walked vigorously enough, it should help her stay warm. Unlocking the door as quietly as she could, she slipped out into the hallway, shutting the door with a quiet 'click.'

The hallway was dark and quiet, lit only by a single torch at each end. She started walking towards the stairs, but as she got close to the door to the men's room, suddenly it burst open. The suddenness of it, as well as the eerie quietness of it startled her. Abruptly, a dark form towered over her in the gloom, and she gasped, jerking backwards.

"Nerissa?" Ferruk's voice traveled to her softly.

"Ferruk!" she said, "you startled me."

He stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door softly behind him. "What are you doing out here? It's not safe, you should stay inside and keep the door locked."

His powerful form stepped closer to her, and she felt her breathing speed up. Unthinkingly, she put her hand on his chest, perhaps to keep him at bay, perhaps just to touch him. Her voice low and quiet, she said, "I really needed to take a walk. Nantu and I talked, and…" she trailed off, unable to say it. It was as if speaking the words aloud would give them credibility.

"And?" he prompted.

"She thinks my mother is trying to kill me," Nerissa choked on the words and felt a tear fall. She was glad then for the gloom of the hallway, as she felt certain that he'd seen her cry enough times already. But her resolve lasted only a moment as he didn't deny it. She looked up at his face and saw the truth written there in the sad look in his eyes.

Her tears broke free then, and she choked on a sob. He pulled her into his arms, laying her head against his chest. She cried for several moments, until the tears ran their course and she managed to get herself under control. By this time, the cold had seeped into her, and she moved closer against his warm bulk.

She looked up at him to thank him, but something in his face stopped her, and she just looked at him. She became aware then of the unequivocal evidence of his aroused state, even as his voice, low and husky, said, "You're staring at me again."

Feeling almost drunk, she leaned into him, her body pressing itself against him without her knowledge or consent. She felt her breathing speed up as she answered, "No, just looking. That's different."

Unexpectedly, he grasped her arms and moved her away from him. His voice thick, harsh, and deep, he said, "You should go to bed. You're tired and you've had a terrible shock. You don't know what you're doing." He stepped away from her, and watched her, waiting for her to go into her own room.

Instead, she stepped closer to him, "Yes I do," she said.

He growled, and she was pressed against him, a fierce, almost painful embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt her body once more take control as it yearned upwards towards his lips as they came crashing down on hers. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see his tusks, as his tongue pressed her mouth open and slipped inside. They were both menacing and yet reassuring.

She felt the muscles between her legs spasm in anticipation and desire, liquefied lust blazing a burning path through her belly, pelvis, and crotch. His tongue pillaged her mouth, her tongue dancing against his as it explored and conquered her. He pulled back and looked at her, panting with a look of intense lust that reflected her own back at her.

He lowered his head to the top of hers, tucking her into his chest again. "Go to bed, Nerissa, before we do something we might both regret tomorrow." He opened the door and pushed her into her room, shutting the door behind her before she could even protest. "Lock it," he said through the door.

She leaned against the door, stunned by the abruptness of his rejection, her hand laid on it as if reaching out to him in mute appeal.

"Lock it, Nerissa," he repeated, and she did. Despondent, she moved to her bed and chased sleep and her thoughts for most of the rest of the night.

Ferruk lay on his bed for a while, his mind boiling and roiling with unanswered questions. She knew what she was doing, approaching him, an orc, in such a manner. Or so she claimed. But he recognized the fact that the last few days had to have been traumatic for her. Simply the experience of being 'kidnapped' was severely traumatic.

He couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to, take advantage of her in this situation. And the very thought was bizarre in its own way. An orc take advantage of an elf? Now, he could see an elf taking advantage of an orc. But the other way around was just… well… it didn't make any sense.

She couldn't possibly be genuinely attracted to him. But what could she want from him? What possible motivation could she have for her strange behavior?

He got up and went into the small lavatory (more of a small chamber, really), and relieved himself of the still-pressing need he felt. It was brief and unsatisfying, really, especially with her eyes and the vision of her golden body presenting itself to him over and over again in his mind. It would have to do, though.

Because he wouldn't take advantage of her. It was dishonorable to exploit the sorrows of others to one's advantage. Thus it was something that he wouldn't do. And he wouldn't try to talk himself into it, either. He would go to sleep now, he resolved, and dismiss these distracting thoughts from his mind.

Minds, however, are intractable things at times, and his doggedly held onto the memory of her arms around him, her breath whispering in the darkness, her green eyes and warm golden skin, and the scent of some sort of flower that clung to her after her bath. And oh, the taste of her lips and mouth under his. Sweet and honeyed like a flapjack on a frigid winter morning in childhood.

He was reminded, too, of the fact that, although she was many more years on this planet than he, he had seen far more of reality than she had by a significant margin. The elves considered her to be still young, just past adolescence. Their lives were so very long, and 59 years old for an elf was a mere 18 or 19 in experience and understanding of life in the lifespans of orcs or humans.

So he, at 28, was many years her senior in understanding, experience, and knowledge. Oh, she certainly had more intellectual learning than he did. But this rarely accounted for a true understanding of reality and the people who wove it. From this aspect as well, he couldn't take advantage of her. She didn't really know what she was doing.

Or if she did, then she didn't really know why she was doing it—or she was doing it for some nefarious reason that he simply couldn't fathom. Ah, in some ways, he wished for the simplicity of an orc woman. If she came onto him, he could take her if she was over the age of consent. Life was simple that way.

He pondered who he might discuss the issue with, but he knew his companions' views on love, having heard them in conversations over the years:

Whitecrow would tell him, "Love doesn't make sense. If it made sense, there'd be no challenge to it, and then we'd all become endangered species."

Malovici would say that he couldn't remember, and start looking for body parts to reassemble—sometimes in absurd ways.

And Nantu would carry on at length in her heavily accented orcish. Eventually, he thought, pretty much saying something that added up to "love is work, love is a choice, love is something you do, not always something you feel."

Of course, he could always take it up with Nerissa, but she was an elf. Gods only knew what she'd say about it.

At some point, sleep claimed him, and he woke up angry and still tired. Malovici and Whitecrow immediately began to avoid him, and as soon as they left and the women joined them, Nantu also took one look at him and joined the guys in avoiding him.

Which left him alone with Nerissa. "Are we going to train this morning?" She asked.

"No," he said shortly.

"Why not?" she asked stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"Because I'm tired," he flashed back at her, scowling thunderously.

"You don't care when I'm tired, you make me train anyway. You're just making excuses to stay away from me." She said, still stubborn.

"So what if I am?" he said.

"So I thought you were supposed to be putting my well-being ahead of childishly avoiding me just because you rejected me," she said.

He walked up to her, "Is that what you think this is about?"

"I know that's what it's about," she told him calmly.

"I didn't reject you. I'm trying to keep you from making a mistake and doing something just because you're vulnerable and turning to the first person you see who seems strong and in control," he explained.

"So you're making my decisions for me because I'm too stupid to make my own?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm older and wiser than you, it's my job to watch out for you," he snapped.

"Really? You don't _look_ 60…" she said, the sentence hanging in the air.

"I said no, and I meant no. We'll train later when I've had a chance to cool off," he nearly yelled, and stomped off to climb on his worg. He joined the others, leaving her to mount on her own. "She is singularly infuriating!" he ground out between gritted teeth.

"I dunno," Whitecrow said, "I kinda like her."

"Well, nobody asked you!" Ferruk snarled.

"Nobody asked you either, but you still keep whining to us about it," Whitecrow said back in his placid voice.

Then the topic of the conversation joined them, and Ferruk could only glare at Whitecrow for a few minutes before jerking the reins and setting off.

Behind him, Whitecrow looked at Nerissa and shrugged. Nantu sighed, and the ever-unflappable Malovici inspected the back of his hand for later sewing projects. With a sigh, Nerissa set out after the irascible Ferruk, and the others followed in her wake.

* * *

Kel'Norat sat in the luxurious living area of the suite. Sharinia sat across from him reading. He finally decided to discuss what had been wandering through his mind for the last few minutes. "I feel so helpless," he said. "There has to be something that I can do to help them."

She looked up at him, her green eyes glowing softly at him. "They understand, I'm sure. I'm sorry that you're feeling so down about it all, but your own life is in danger, as well." She came over and sat down on his lap. "I've only just gotten to love you the way we both truly want to. I don't want to lose you."

"I know, and I'm not talking about leaving Dalaran. I just feel like there should be something I can do to help them. I have no idea what." He sighed and breathed in the scent she always wore. So familiar… so new.

"Well, when they were leaving, that orc asked me to give him Nerissa's armor. It's a bit outdated, I think, so perhaps you could look into having a smith make something more up to date for her?" She sounded hesitant to suggest it, but he leaped up, unseating her as he did so, pulling her against him to keep her from falling.

"That's a fantastic idea!"

They rushed from the room together, excited to go and commission the armor for Nerissa. After some time, picking and choosing from what was available to be purchased or commissioned, they chose a combination of already made items, and requesting some be made, paying extra to have them made immediately. Every enhancement that could be purchased to be sent with it, they also purchased.

Then, Kel'Norat contacted Ferruk via the attunement crystals. _Ferruk? I would like to send some armor for Nerissa; I know hers is old and sadly lacking. Perhaps you could tell me where to post it to?_

The reply came that they were already en route towards the ruins of Utgarde Keep, and Ferruk explained the situation, outlining briefly why they had no choice but to go, and to take Nerissa with them. Kel'Norat agreed with his assessment, and informed him that he would send the armor by special courier, and have the courier meet them along the way. Fortunately, the courier need not be constrained to land travel, so should catch them quickly, well before they reached the Keep.

Thus saying, they ended the contact. Kel'Norat found someone he trusted (as much as any elf ever trusted another, really), and sent him off with the armor. He offered half cash now, and half upon return after successful delivery. The man leaped on his hawkstrider, armor in hand, and skimmed away.

Now, they could only wait. Kel'Norat could think of plenty of ways to wile away the hours, though, and so he and Sharinia went back to their suite and did exactly that.

* * *

Chalisse wandered her finger up and down the man's arm. He was human, and she was somewhat taller than he, but he didn't seem to care. And indeed, he was pathetically and abjectly attracted to her. Humans, being short-lived creatures, were quite easy for a centuries old elf to manipulate. Particularly when said elf was very, very beautiful.

Human men really were suckers for any beautiful woman that showed them the least bit of attention. And as Chalisse pouted at him now, he rushed to reassure his dear, sweet, beloved elf that she could come and live with him if she became destitute because of him granting the divorce her husband was seeking.

Alarmed at the unexpected turn that things were taking, she immediately tried to rectify the situation. Perhaps she had done too well in getting the old man to fall in love with her enough to do whatever she asked of him. Now he wanted her to move to Dalaran and live with him as a commoner amongst the Dalaran peasant mages!

"Oh, my love," she said, "surely you understand that if Kel'Norat is granted the divorce, I become a wanted woman among my own people, and I can never leave Dalaran again… even after you have died, I shall be constrained here for the entirety of my very long lifespan."

When understanding began to dawn in his face, she relaxed. As one of the justices in Dalaran, and specifically the one who would soon hear her husband's plea to grant him a divorce from her, he had been remarkably easy to manipulate. She'd come to him crying about how abused she was, after having Quardis beat her (an act that he had seemed to relish far too much for her taste).

He'd at first tried to send her from his chambers, but as she sobbed and wept and clung to him, he'd begun to become aroused by her. From that moment on, he was hers. Now, if she couldn't manipulate him into complying through trickery, she would resort to blackmail. She now had concrete evidence of him having sexual relations with one of the people in a case he was to decide (her), and thus if necessary she could threaten to ruin him forever.

However, that was far riskier than this was. A bit of sex, however boring and unsavory it might be, in exchange for his cooperation in preventing Kel'Norat from divorcing her, was far easier than maintaining a blackmailing. Especially since he could possibly overthrow her claims with Kel'Norat's claims of her trying to kill him. An attempted murder claim backed by a blackmailing claim could be disastrous.

It was perfectly acceptable to do in elven society… so long as one did not get caught. Getting caught was punishable by exile, death, or torture. Whatever you got caught doing was typically incidental to the real crime.

Therefore, having sex with the man was her best and least risky strategy. Right now, he believed that she'd been acting in self-defense, and that she had to remain married whether she wanted to or not. And that, to her way of thinking, was exactly the right thing for him to think.

And a beautiful woman would never lie to him, would she? Of course not…

She smiled at him again, "Come to mommy, lambkins," she said. Apparently, some human men liked things like that. And far be it from her to complain about anything that made him easier to manipulate.

* * *

Quardis was infuriated. How dare this sycophant interrupt what he was doing to whine that the targets had not reached them yet? Just who did he think he was messing with here?

The man had dared to contact him via the attunement crystals, which were never, even in the best or worse of circumstances, the preferred method of talking to one another. Simply because it was a very painful method of communication for both the sender and the receiver. Generally, people reserved it for only the most important, dire, or emergency of situations.

Not to whine about having to wait.

Yet, here was his hireling, whining to him that the targets weren't there yet, and was he certain they'd be going that way? It really didn't matter to Quardis if they went that way or not. The man was to wait for them, and not whine about it.

So, ignoring his own pain, as he was far more disciplined than the other man, Quardis deliberately spread out his sending in order to maximize his punishment of the offending underling. _Don't... you… ever… contact… me… this… way… without… permission…again_.

The underling responded, and Quardis could almost hear his petulance over the flat, toneless method of communication, anyway. _Yes, sir._

_You will wait there for them until they arrive. If they don't arrive there, then they will arrive at the other post, and then I will inform you. Until then, you will stay at the top of that lift and wait. You will follow the plan exactly, without the tiniest deviation. If you do not, I will have you hunted down and killed. Any questions?_ Quardis told the aggravating underling.

_No sir_, came the terse reply.

Quardis sat back and pondered for a bit. He hadn't heard from the group outside of Warsong Hold, either, so it was very possible that Nerissa and her escort (whose name he didn't know) were delayed in some way. He found this idea frustrating, mainly because it made it very difficult to plan when there was something you didn't know.

Quardis did not like ignorance in anyone, and he especially hated anyone who caused him to experience it. He was ignorant to their whereabouts right now, and that was as aggravating as that stupid underling. One way or the other, though, his ignorance was about to become knowledge. There were few directions they could go without running into one of several ambushes.

Quardis couldn't wait.

* * *

Ferruk couldn't account for his mood past lack of sleep without admitting what he didn't want to admit. He tried to think about where they were going and what they had to do, rather than … that other thing. The thing he didn't want to think about. The feelings he didn't want to have, the thoughts that he couldn't chase away, the attraction that he was thinking about again despite wanting to think about something—anything—else.

The war-torn area they entered on their way to the lift fit his mood perfectly. A dismal gray shroud of smoke obscured the sun, stinking of burning flesh and the cloying scent of carrion. The occasional bloated corpse floated into view, attended by crows that stared at the passing group as if to say, "Don't dally, else I dine next upon your flesh."

The snarling of fighting worgs as they grappled to consume the rotting corpses mingled with the cawing and cackling of the crows. The unseen spectre of Death hung over every corpse, staring with baleful, unseen eyes at those living that dared to intrude in this dark, dismal hell. It seemed to beckon them, enticing them with dark secrets of the great beyond.

The malignancy that hung over the whole place as quiet Forsaken Deathguards wandered from body to body, setting them on fire, was a coldness that dampened the spirits and scarred the soul. Greasy columns of putrid black smoke rose from the burning cadavers, lending the air a sulphuric and burning bite.

The area was not only a place of death, but also a place of malevolent and soul-devouring misery. The sun could not penetrate the noxious fumes, nor were there any animals near besides those that attended death. The mood of the group rapidly deteriorated within moments of entering the hanging cloud of misery and mortal demise.

Nerissa, upon noticing the settling of ash on herself, stopped and vomited. Apparently, her combat experience didn't extend to wearing the corporeal remains of burned soldiers upon her body, or breathing them in as an inherent part of the air. Ferruk didn't blame her; even he was unnerved by this place.

So, tense and jittery, the group moved deeper into the battlefield as the resumed metronome of distant cannon fire adding a melancholy symphony to the chorus of caws and snarls meted out by the worgs and the crows. When they approached too close to one bloated, savaged corpse, the worg that had been feeding on it turned on them with a snarl and charged them.

Soon, a new corpse decorated the macabre landscape, its entrails burning hot against the cold air, steam rising in a barely perceptible blanket to mingle with the scents of death, burning flesh, and fresh blood. Leaving the worg to the crows, the group waited for Nerissa to finish her second round of retching before continuing onwards.

The distance to the lift seemed so much longer now than it had before. Picking their way through the charnel house, they finally drew close to the lift. While a sense of relief seemed to flow through the rest of them, Nerissa drew up, and hopped off her horse, appearing to retch again.

_Ferruk?_ her voice sounded in his mind to a sharp, stabbing pain.

Irritated in the extreme, as this was the second time in one day that someone had forced this method of communication upon him (her father being the first), he lashed back at her, _What the fuck? What do you want?_

Her response came back with the toneless dryness of attunement communication, but it chilled him deeply nonetheless for all that. _Those are Silvermoon horses at the bottom of the lift._

He looked at the four men at the bottom of the lift, and suddenly the day seemed ever darker and more malevolent than before. Perhaps they were simply fellow travelers. Perhaps they were assassins. Given the placement, it was an unlikely place for an ambush. Unless, of course, there were more at the top of the lift.

Ferruk wracked his brain, wondering what to do. Ride into the trap and spring it, or turn back? If it were an ambush, turning back would do no good at all, as these would have flight, while their own group was confined to land travel.

There was no help for it. Ferruk waited for Nerissa to mount again, and they moved forward.

Soon, maybe too soon, they approached the group at the bottom of the platform. "Nerissa?" one of the men called.

To Ferruk's surprise, Nerissa didn't respond. He wasn't sure if she was showing unexpected good sense, or if she was distracted, but either way, it was the correct response. They continued towards the lift, passing the men there and simply moving on as if they had no business with them. Which Ferruk hoped was true.

One of the elves again called out to her, "Nerissa?" Then, when she again didn't respond, he said, "Miss, are you Nerissa? We bring word from your father."

Nerissa replied, "I'm sorry, you are mistaken as to my identity. My name is Therisi." She continued on to the lift, going immediately back to ignoring them.

"My apologies, miss," he said, and the lift arrived. The group climbed onto it, waiting with subdued anxiety for it to arrive at the top.

On the way up, Ferruk informed Nerissa that her father had told him he would send a package for her by courier. She frowned, "Perhaps that was the courier, then?"

Ferruk shook his head. "It seems far too soon, plus he said the man would fly to us. I think we'd do best to see what's waiting for us at the top of the lift before we go down again and ask. We'll know soon enough." _Or too soon, perhaps_, he thought to himself.

She nodded, clearly willing to defer to his decision. He was relieved at that, having felt unsure if she would acquiesce to his decision or not. He felt very strongly that going back down would be a mistake. Yet at the same time, he considered that if it were an ambush, it might be best to dispatch the four below first, alone. But the course was set now, so he moved off of the lift and started up the ramp.

They reached the top of the ramp without incident. The landscape seemed almost serene, the sky brilliantly blue and the grass just as sparkling in its green freshness. After the deep misery of the land below, it seemed almost a jarring contrast, but Ferruk refused to allow it to distract him from his focus. They were not out of danger here until this area was left well behind them.

They began to cross the stone bridge that connected the lift to the massive cliff, when he heard it. His keen ears picked up the 'flap, flap' of the wings of a mount. Nerissa's gasp indicated that she'd heard it, as well. Holding his hand out palm down, he motioned to suppress the party's reactions.

And to let the others know that they were about to be engaged. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give the riders to each side of them the opportunity to flank them. Then he recognized that they didn't really need to get behind them at this point, they had already flanked them and could set upon them easily from either direction.

Making his decision, he backed the group up into the lift. Let the bastards come to them.

"You have betrayed yourself. We know you're there. Just as well come out and face us." Ferruk said it coldly, raising his voice but not yelling. They could hear him, he knew that perfectly well. Just as Nerissa's delicate ears housed hearing of a fine and sharp caliber, so did the other elves have perfectly capable hearing.

He was unsurprised when a rider popped out from the escarpment to the right of the lift. The man's wyvern flapped a couple of times, hovering for a moment, before the rider dropped the few feet to the ground as his mount flapped away. "Well, I wasn't expecting so many of you. But really, it's so like you to be difficult, Nerissa."

"Malthos," Nerissa said, her voice filled with venom.

"Friend of yours?" Ferruk asked redundantly.

"Once," she replied tersely.

"Well, not to worry, love, we'll have plenty of time to take care of our unfinished business," Malthos said slyly, "as I don't think Vranesh or Quardis really care too much about whether you're a virgin or not. But we'll make sure that you're one-third virgin still, just in case." He sneered and another man appeared over the same escarpment as he, plus another from beyond the rock behind him. The flapping of wings alerted them to the danger as the four from the bottom landed beside the others, flowing over the top of the cliff on flying mounts.

Ferruk thought it was odd that they'd sent so many people for a single woman and a single orc, but it made him that much more pleased that he'd called for the others. However, it was still unpleasant odds. He wondered if perhaps her father was also in on things, given that he was, as far as Ferruk knew, the only other person who knew they were a group, instead of just two.

What seemed to be in their group's favor over the ambushers was that they wanted Nerissa alive, from the sound of things. Ferruk did take note of the fact that it wasn't just Nerissa's mother out for her blood anymore, either. Apparently the man they'd met on the way here wanted his hands in the honeypot, too.

Ferruk had no intention of making it easy for any of them, though.

Delving into his pockets, Ferruk pulled out totems that he, through communion with nature, had imbued with the power of the elements. These, he placed nearby, so that their power would reach out to the group, or to their enemies, based on attunement (or lack of it) with him.

Beside him, Nantu dropped her own twisted, gnarled totems, made much the same way as his, but looking quite different. Nerissa found these totems to be uncomfortable and rather repugnant.

Whitecrow, ever the point man, pulled his mighty shield and his battleaxe off of his back. The axe alone was bigger than her, Nerissa noticed. It seemed to her, as Malovici seemed to vanish, fooling her eyes with a strange and unfamiliar magic, that everyone had a role in this conflict except her.

Well, she would create her own role. She pulled her broadsword out, and prepared to tackle them to the best of her ability. She wouldn't sit and do nothing while others fought. Maybe she wasn't ready, but she was going to try anyway. She gave Ferruk a look that dared him to try to stop her. He just gave her a single nod, more an incline of the head.

He would not over-protect her. They were all in danger here. Everyone should have the right to fight for his or her self, in fact in orc society; everyone is expected to do so. She would step up to the sword, and Ferruk respected that.

Malthos grinned and raised his own sword, "Going to make it interesting, I see. Good, I'm overdue for a bit of sport."

He moved towards them, and Whitecrow allowed him to get almost to the lift tunnel before he rushed him, slamming him with brute force with his shield. Malthos' eyes glazed over for a moment as the blow stunned him and he fought for breath. Nerissa moved forward with full intent to help. From beside her, one of the men from below—the one she'd ignored—grinned and slashed at her.

To her surprise, she was able to easily dodge his blow. He wasn't in very good shape, apparently, having spent too much time in Silvermoon and not enough time practicing his fighting or caring for his body. At least Nerissa had that in her favor; she kept in shape. It was, after all, far more attractive.

She ducked in under his sword and as Ferruk had done to her the day before with his mace, slapped it up into the air. Diving forward, she shoved her sword in between his ribs. He cried out in pain, and one of the other men, a blood elf with hair as red as her own, Healed him.

Whitecrow called out, "Everyone on Red, he's a Healer!" Nerissa gathered holy magic and stunned Red with it, allowing Whitecrow to get him nailed down. Immediately his powerful axe swung towards the elf's head, making Red pull back away from him. Red was wearing plate armor, but unfortunately for him, he didn't wear it well, and moved slowly and clumsily in it.

Whitecrow's axe cut into his side, causing an arc of blood to disturb the vague tranquility of the stone bridge. Whitecrow threw his head back, letting loose a powerful, deep bellow that informed every enemy there that he was, indeed, the greatest danger to them. It seemed to say, without words, that any who wished to hurt those he was with, would have to do so over his dead body.

Five of the seven set on him directly, as Red tried frantically to escape, or Heal through, the mighty blows of Whitecrow's brutal axe. However, beyond the group, one of the other elves whistled, calling up a fluidic, undulating snake pet, its spined mantle billowing out around its serpentine cobra-like head. Ignoring Whitecrow entirely, the Hunter sent the pet straight towards Nantu.

Ferruk, in the meantime, was swinging his maces with lightning speed. Powerful blows were raining down on Red as Whitecrow flashed across the distance between he and the Hunter, roaring in another clap of thunderous rage. Nantu, on her part, had dropped a different totem, replacing one of the others with it. This totem called up roots that actually seemed to sprout from the stone to grasp the offending snake pet in an unbreakable grip.

The pet was spitting venom at her, a vile and dangerous poison that was easily rendered inert and harmless by the magic of another totem. Nerissa, content that Nantu was taken care of for the moment, joined Ferruk in dispatching Red. He, becoming desperate in the face of their onslaught, called up a shield of powerful magic that their blows could not penetrate.

Ferruk and Nerissa immediately ignored him and turned to help with the Hunter. However futile the gesture, he'd bought himself a few minutes more of life. Whitecrow, for all that he was now facing six foes, seemed unshaken and undaunted. He lifted his shield and slammed it into the Hunter's chin, driving the man's head upwards and back with unreal force.

Indeed, Nerissa noticed that he was so proficient that he managed to block blows from those who he wasn't entirely focused on. She even, as she darted towards him (as fast as one can dart in plate armor) saw him parry a blow from the man to his right, swinging the massive axe into his path and slashing it across his chest, leaving a deep groove behind in the breastplate.

Nerissa could feel that Whitecrow's health was beginning to fail, though. Even a powerful man such as himself could only take so much, and he had numerous foes battering at him. Just as she began to feel concerned, Nantu's healing power washed over him. Nerissa relaxed, returning to the business at hand.

The Hunter was not long for the world after that, despite a Heal thrown by the now-defenseless Red. Leaving the Hunter again, Nerissa and Ferruk, working in perfect harmony, returned to dispatch Red. He tried to evade them, moving away from them. He was dispatched in the simplest, most unexpected way in the end.

His foot slipped and he fell from the bridge, shrieking as he descended. The sound hung in the air for a moment as Nerissa and Ferruk looked at each other and cringed. Somehow, that seemed a worse way to die than in battle.

Turning back, they saw Whitecrow's axe slice into the Hunter's shoulder, severing not just the arm, but a large part of the shoulder as well. Blood rushed out of the gaping wound as the hunter stared at it in delirious terror. Whitecrow was splashed in the crimson liquid as the Hunter toppled forward. The pet, upon the death of the Hunter, was released from the compulsion that had held it. It slithered away, and no one bothered to chase it down.

For a terrifying moment, Whitecrow was vulnerable as he struggled to relieve himself of the corpse of the Hunter.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Ferruk and Nerissa, once more in a strange and perfect partnership, rushed across the bridge to aid him. His massive hoof at last shoved the corpse aside, and he turned back to the man on his right, a blond blood elf who seemed to be a paladin. It was the one who had slashed at her earlier.

Whitecrow was leaving the most formidable foe to the end. In the meantime, he intended to dispatch the others as quickly as he could. Ferruk's maces swung with brutal efficiency, slamming into the blonde's plate armor, making it clang loudly against the background of grunts and thumps from the general melee.

Whitecrow swung the monstrous shield again, this time impacting the elf's side so hard that it bent armor. The squeal of metal on metal shrieked through the air the moment before the man's dying wail joined it as Nerissa landed a brutal blow to his side. Her sword bit through his armor and deeply into his abdomen until the sword ground up against bone.

Yanking it free, Nerissa helped to dispatch the two leather-clad rogues and the other paladin. There remained one more paladin, and Malthos.

Nantu Healed them as they continued, and Nerissa found that when fatigue or pain started to overwhelm her, Nantu's Heals were there. Whitecrow was there taking the worst of the damage from beatings. Ferruk and Malovici seemed to simply destroy anything in their path.

Malovici's daggers danced and leaped in the air, invisible in their speed and cunning in their strikes. The latent magic inherent to all people of Azeroth caused even his deadly strikes to completely miss those attuned to him as he unleashed wide arcs of spinning, dancing, deadly darts.

Or perhaps it was just immense skill.

Even now, as Nerissa swung again, Malovici's daggers danced a brilliant and blazing crescendo across the paladin's upper torso, seeking and finding every chink and vulnerability in the man's plate armor. There was something very terrifying about him, as he bobbed and weaved and tucked in, around, and under the man's defenses. Yet something also astoundingly dazzling and sublime about it.

It was he who took the final toll on the last remaining paladin, leaving only Malthos to be dealt with. Malthos himself was barely injured, but was clearly enraged by the death of his fellows. He and Whitecrow grappled briefly, twisting and turning as their weapons were rendered useless for a moment by their nearly matched strength. Despite being less than half the tauren's weight, Malthos was very powerful, his muscles puissant despite their comparatively diminutive stature.

As Malthos bore his weight against Whitecrow, his hooves skittered on the stone, the boots covering his shins and protecting his delicate hocks doing nothing to aid him in gaining traction. Slowly, he was forced backwards into the tunnel. Nerissa, Ferruk, and Malovici took great glee in utilizing his distraction with Whitecrow in order to begin inflicting serious damage on him.

Indeed, so intent were they on the business of dispatching him that they were lost to the danger imposed upon Whitecrow until the last moment. He tried to lurch to the side, in order to back up against the wall, but Malthos managed to keep him going on a direct path… towards the end of the lift.

The three redoubled their efforts, while even Nantu began to throw powerful lightning bolts at him. Now, not only was the air alive with the terrible sounds of battle, but the snapping spat of lightning also danced through the air. Distant booms from the cannons below seemed like thunder as the six fighters grappled in a strange tableau of dancing, slow motion death.

Whitecrow inched closer to the end of the platform. The gate was effective against mounts, but a person could easily be forced through it… and it was obvious that this was Malthos' intent. With inexorable persistence, Malthos pushed Whitecrow closer and closer to the brink of death.

Nerissa found that the fear she felt for Whitecrow outstripped even the fear she'd felt when she'd thought she was going to die and be eaten. The affection she felt for him blossomed within her, burning across her emotions and clearing her mind in way she'd never felt before. Suddenly, she wanted Malthos to die with unfamiliar intensity.

Her desperate desire to save Whitecrow from the horrific death Malthos intended for him caused her to meld with the weapon she held. Fatigue was forgotten. Pain was forgotten. Now, she simply swayed, twisting and twirling and dipping and slicing to the unheard beat of the rhythm of her budding friendship with Whitecrow.

At last, they reached the edge. Malthos was staggering now, swaying himself, though to the music of Death's own symphony. He seemed determined to take Whitecrow with him, and when they reached the edge, he lurched to throw himself off the edge, and indeed took Whitecrow over the edge, entwined in a murderous embrace.

Nerissa watched as Whitecrow and Malthos toppled, and all of reality narrowed to that instant. As they fell, she leaped forward, abandoning her sword. His leg tangled in the straps that blocked the lift, and she caught it, entangling her own arm in the strap to keep it wrapped around him. Malthos dangled from Whitecrow's breastplate, and Nerissa felt reality bulge outwards with the straining straps.

She realized that she couldn't hold on much longer. She felt Ferruk holding onto her leg, but he was helpless to come out onto the straps and help them any further, else all four plunge to the rocky ground further below them than she could even guess at.

Time stood still then as her hand finally slipped free, and she shrieked with a soul-wrenching scream of pure, undiluted emotional torment. She was dragged back onto the lift landing, and something inside of her broke free. She screamed again and again, "No! No! No!"

The lift platform arrived moments later, and Whitecrow's broken form lay upon it. With a sickening 'crunch,' Malthos was split in half by the unstoppable power of the lift engine as it drew the platform flush with the landing. Nantu leaped up and jumped on the platform. Before Nerissa could even react, it was gone again, just like that.

The cage slammed back into place as Nantu's head vanished down the lift.

Nerissa collapsed to the ground and wept.

Ferruk took Nerissa into his lap and held her while she cried. He was shocked at the immensity of her response. His own pain and loss was tremendous, but he'd known Whitecrow for many, many years. Whitecrow was, to put it simply, an extremely good man. But from what he could see, Nerissa's pain had every earmark of genuine suffering at the loss of a dear friend, despite only knowing him a short time.

So he held her, and suffered his own poignant sorrow in silence for a moment. "He died one of the most honorable deaths I've ever seen," Ferruk finally said, hearing his voice betray him with thick emotion.

"'E ain't dead," Nantu said as the lift crested the platform. "Gurlie held out til da platform were close 'nuff what he only falled a few yards. Hep me git 'im offa 'ere next time we up 'ere."

And the platform was gone again, just like that.

In its wake, it left three shocked faces. Nerissa, ignoring her injuries (and his, thanks for nothing) scrambled roughly off of Ferruk and started to pace impatiently beside the straps of the cage that prevented (not very well) people from falling off the end of it. Malovici moved towards it, as well, and Ferruk stood up and clomped his way over, too.

Though he had barely any power left at all, Ferruk Healed himself. He would need his strength to help swiftly pull the bulk of Whitecrow off of the lift and onto the platform. He was somewhat surprised to see Nerissa lay down and stick her head over the side of the lift platform, obviously watching for the lift to come up again.

Although Whitecrow apparently hadn't fallen far enough to die, given that he'd been nearly restored fully by Nantu just before his fall, it was obviously a long enough fall that it had been such a close call that he couldn't move of his own accord. And Nantu, Ferruk could sense, had no Power available to Heal him with.

He and Nerissa were both tapped as well. He could have saved the Heal he just gave himself, but it was far too small to allow Whitecrow to be able to get up and move on his own power, severely damaged as he was. Ferruk noticed that Nantu's power reserves had built up enough for a Heal, and saw it drop immediately.

Nantu was making Whitecrow as comfortable as she could for them to move him—and making sure that they didn't snuff out the precious life remaining in him when they pulled him off of the lift.

He fought his own urge to pace as the three waited for the lift. Behind him, Nerissa was practically dodging back and forth. Malovici squatted stoically next to the lift cage.

Finally, after an unremitting wait, the lift finally crested again. With practically a lunge, Ferruk grabbed Whitecrow and started to pull. Six hands joined his two, and they yanked him from the platform. So heavy was he, though, that the work was slow, thus terrifying. An instant after they pulled him free, the cage slammed down, missing his hoof by the barest margin.

To Ferruk's surprise, Nerissa began to bandage Whitecrow with incredible expertise. He hadn't expected such from her, as a paladin, it seemed an odd skill for her to have. Most of those with the ability to Heal themselves ignored this skill. He had, Nantu had. But not Nerissa.

Swiftly, she staunched what bleeding Nantu's Heal hadn't. Then, when she had done what she could reach, she began to divest him of his armor, now twisted and wrecked by the severe fall. Ferruk realized that it was a very wise move, and rushed to help. Soon, Whitecrow lay, still unconscious, in breeches and tunic.

In the meantime, Nantu sat down and began to drink some restorative drink. Soon, her power reserves began to surge upwards. At last, she stood and began to Heal Whitecrow, the magic surging once, twice, three, and then four times. With a gasp and then a roar, Whitecrow began to flail around, attempting perhaps to right himself, or possibly thinking for an instant that he was still falling.

His movements took him in the general direction of the lift's end again, and in a universal over-reaction, all four of them shouted, "No!" and started towards him. He stopped, his eyes wild and unfocused for a moment. Then to everyone else's surprise, Nerissa ran to him and threw her arms around his middle.

At this unexpected act, it was as if he were pulled fully back to reality. He closed his arms around her and held her tight. His slow, deep 'heh heh heh' laugh rolled out of him. "I'm okay, tiny girl, just took a pretty serious scare there."

She was crying again, "I thought you were dead!" muffled into the fur of his chest.

He laid his big head (well, part of it) against the side of hers. "You held onto me long enough to save my life, tiny girl. I thank you for that." He patted her and she continued to cry.

Ferruk watched them, and was surprised to feel a fearsome, overwhelming, bewildering shock of raging jealousy flash through him. He suddenly wanted to push Whitecrow back off the ledge and take Nerissa right then and there. He struggled with the feeling, battling himself to stay in control as a new, yet somehow familiar feeling rose in him.

He turned away, still struggling. He clomped to the stone that bridged the gap between the lift and the land. He started searching the bodies, just in case there might be a clue or a missive of some sort on them. This did little to take his mind off of the vision of Nerissa held tightly in Whitecrow's arms, however.

He acknowledged the sense of self-loathing that rolled over him. How could he have nearly lost one of his closest friends, and now be sitting and wanting to do heinous murder to the same friend whom he had nearly spilt tears over but a few moments ago? What kind of man harbored such towering jealousy over someone he'd only just met? What kind of man harbored such rage towards a good friend over a woman he'd just met?

He remembered the words of his mentor so long ago, "Our people are hot-headed. Prone to leaping without stopping to look either before or after. Your job as a shaman is to temper that. To be the calm to the maelstrom of orc emotion. You must master yourself so that you can perform this important function for the clan. It means that you must give up such pleasures as drama and revenge and other forms of vendettas. The path of the shaman is very different from the others.

"The legacy of the shaman is self-discipline and self-mastery. This is our gift to our clan."

So he fought the inward battle, reminding himself that while some orcs mated for life, most didn't. Reminding himself that in her culture, multiple sexual partners were almost expected. Reminding himself that a kiss was just a kiss, not a commitment.

To some degree, he won the battle with himself, but painful feelings still boiled through him as he concluded the messy business of searching the corpses. Nothing. Not that he was surprised. Malthos had already tipped his hand, so there was little need to find out where they were from.

Finally, he was able to face the others, carefully keeping his eyes averted from Nerissa. He clomped up to Whitecrow and grasped him with the characteristic left-handed grip of orc brotherhood. "I also feared you were gone, old friend. It would be a devastating loss."

Whitecrow gripped his hand, "I'm glad to still be here," he said.

The group then spoke for a while, deciding in the end that Whitecrow should fly down to Vengeance Landing and repair his badly distorted armor. Once done, he would fly back up and rejoin them.

Following the road, the rest of the group rode the better part of the hour, until they reached the horde encampment. They, besieged by the Vrykul, greeted the group curtly and returned to the business of protecting the lift. Ferruk decided to camp across the road and up the embankment a ways.

It was late already, and in some ways, he felt vaguely vulnerable after the near loss of Whitecrow. His friend. His friend towards whom he was feeling unjust anger.

When the camp was settled, he sat on the ground and stared at the fire as twilight covered the land in a cold gray veil.

* * *

In the distant city of Silvermoon, through the attunement crystals that linked him to all of the ambushes that he'd sent out, Quardis felt one after another of the men die. He paused in beating the slave who had angered him that day as he took stock of who was dying and where they were.

So the orc was going through Howling Fjord, was he?

Quardis was disappointed and irritated by the death of the men, but thought little of it. They had probably allowed the pair to get off of the lift and up the road to the horde soldiers. The two would probably get help next time, so he'd send more next time. He broadcasted to the ambushers at large to stand down, as the path was now marked.

When even Malthos died, he then felt a genuine anger. Malthos had been a loyal and capable mercenary for him for years. This was actually a loss, and when Quardis returned his attention to the slave, he beat the man to death before he realized he'd done it.

Sighing, he told the men at the door to get him a new one. It would take some breaking and some training, but oh well. He had other, more important issues on his mind.

* * *

Some time after setting up the camp, there was a flapping of wings, and Whitecrow landed a few feet from them. He was garbed once more in his armor, its dark plating glimmering slightly in the light from the fire. His black form bulked into camp and he sat down. "Thank you all for your help," he said. "I thought I was a goner for sure."

"So did we," Malovici said. "Can say I prefer you alive," he told Whitecrow, and the three who knew him were surprised at this unaccustomed sign of what could almost be considered affection from the man.

They ate and prepared to bed down for the night. Nerissa now had her own bedroll, which she'd bought in Vengeance Landing. She laid it down and pulled her armor off, leaving on a tunic and breeches. She began cleaning it, and everyone else followed suit with their own armor, except Whitecrow, whose was clean already, as well as repaired.

They chatted for a while in companionable comfort, close enough to the guards across the road to feel comfortable out of their armor, but not so close that the battle was intrusive. When they were done, Nerissa stood up and stepped over towards Ferruk. "I'd like to go for a walk. I suspect you prefer I not go by myself?"

"Malovici can accompany you," he said, not trusting himself to be alone with her.

"I'd prefer you did, I have something to discuss," she said, but she said it politely, as a request.

Regardless, he felt cornered. In some ways, her courtesy was worse than her demanding had been. It left him no real avenue of getting out of it without appearing churlish. So he stood and walked with her, considering stopping to put his armor back on first. He decided against it, swayed more by the fact that he didn't want to be bothered, than anything else.

They walked for a few minutes in silence, and Ferruk tried not to focus on her proximity. Or her scent. Or the glow of her eyes. Or…

"When I thought that Whitecrow had died, it made me realize how fragile life really is," Nerissa said. Ferruk nodded.

"It made me realize that if there's something that must be said, or something that must be done, the time is now," she said. She stopped and turned towards him.

Hesitating, he stopped and looked back at her. He tried not to notice how enticing she looked in the light tunic she was wearing. Not to notice the way the moonlight adorned her golden face with ornamental bits of silver gilding. Not to notice that her nipples, straining slightly against the tunic, were pertly standing at attention.

She continued while he struggled with the line of thinking that his mind was relentlessly pursuing. "That, if there's someone that I care for, the time to tell him isn't when it's convenient, or when it's comfortable, or…" She paused and he watched with detached fascination as she took her lip into her teeth, their whiteness stark against the red of her lips in the darkness. "…or when I'm sure I won't be rejected—"

He turned away and cut her off. "I don't want to talk about this, Nerissa," he said. He felt an ache in the center of his chest, a crushing weight pressing down on his heart. He'd seen her response to Whitecrow, and couldn't even pretend that he didn't know what she meant. For a moment, he'd considered deluding himself into believing she might be talking about him.

"If not now, Ferruk, then when? Life can be brief, we just saw that today! You think I'm dumb because I'm young for an elf. And I know I can be really naïve, but I'm almost 60 years old. Some things I understand perfectly well, and—" she was once more cut off, this time from the camp.

"Hold it right there," Whitecrow said, and they heard the cocking of the shotgun he carried. "We'll need to know who you are and what your business is before we'll allow you to enter the camp," he continued.

Ferruk started to head back, and felt her soft, cool hand on his forearm. "Ferruk, promise me that you'll make time for this conversation soon," she said, her green eyes entreating him. She stepped closer to him, her chest brushing against his arm. He felt his penis respond to the touch, however innocent it was.

"Fine," he snapped, and stomped towards the camp to see what was going on.

"I'm Jin'Kora," the man said, "I've brought some things for Nerissa. I apologize if I've stumbled into—"

"Jin!" Nerissa shrieked, and ran across the camp, barely avoiding the fire. She struck the other elf and they embraced warmly. He sat her down then, and held her away from himself, "My, you're looking lovely," he said.

She laughed, and said, "Of course I am, it's in the rulebook." The pair laughed, and came back to the fire. Whitecrow had lowered the gun and made no protest as they came and sat down, still chattering random pleasantries.

For the second time that day, Ferruk felt like killing someone out of sheer jealousy.

Nantu stepped up beside him, and said, "Ya cud allays eats 'im. Werked fer us fer years."

He glowered at her, and stomped back out into the woods away from the camp. To his surprise, she followed him. "Ya ought ta talk wit' 'er about it," she told him. "Mebbe ya be s'prised what she has ta say."

"She made her feelings clear today," Ferruk said.

"Shore she did," Nantu said. "But mebbe ya seein' da wrong feelins. Maybe she 'spressin one ting, and you seein da othah." She left him then and rejoined the others.

Ferruk really hated the way that woman would throw riddles at him all the time. Why didn't she just spell it out in plain ol' orcish for him?


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Kel'Norat stood in front of the Justice, having explained the entire scenario. It really should be a shoe-in. And he'd had it seen in front of the Dalaran Justices because they were notoriously impartial and difficult to persuade (read: bribe). He explained the attempt on his life, and the treatment he'd received at her hands for the last 42 years of their marriage.

The Justice listened, his balding head nodding on occasion. Then Chalisse was called in. She did a melodramatic bit about how abused she was. Then Kel'Norat provided evidence to the attacks on him, one on Dalaran's own soil.

The Justice listened to them both, rubbing his belly and occasionally scratching himself. The longer he was in the same room with the man, the more Kel'Norat's spirits sank. He couldn't apply again for a year if this justice denied him. All in all, not a very long time in the lifespan of an elf, but nearly an eternity in his marriage.

And Chalisse, of course, also argued with the divorce based upon the grounds that, even with a yearly stipend, she would lose entirely the quality of life she'd become accustomed to, thus causing her grievous mental anguish. She was not the heiress to her own family's fortune (despite numerous attempts on her sisters' lives, all of which she magically failed to mention).

The reality of it was, she was addicted to Power, the malaise that more frequently afflicted the wealthy than the common amongst the elves. The wealthy found it far easier to feed their addiction than did those whose wealth was not as substantial, or who were too busy with life to bother with petty addictions. Chalisse was teetering on the edge of descending to the complete fallen state of the Wretched. And she intended to remain teetering there indefinitely.

That meant she needed money, and thanks to Kel'Norat, she had an abundance of it. This was a situation that she absolutely intended to continue. No matter what it took.

So she groveled in front of the Justice, crying about her difficult life.

When it was all done and said, Kel'Norat was denied his request for a divorce, on the grounds that it would put too great a burden upon his wife. However, a legal separation was allowed, so long as access to assets was equitable. This infuriated Chalisse and disappointed Kel'Norat. It was, though, the best outcome he could think of next to being granted his divorce.

He could retain a consort, and could continue to use the family funds (only fair, since most of them, he'd made anyway—both before and after his parents died). Therefore, while it wasn't the ultimate outcome, it wasn't a complete loss. He had expected an either-or situation, so he took solace in the fact that he hadn't lost everything for at least a year—or until Chalisse managed to kill him off.

The proceedings over, everyone left to allow the next cases to be settled. Kel'Norat and Sharinia went to celebrate. Chalisse went to fume impotently until George Cromwell returned from his duties as Justice of Dalaran.

She shrieked at him, not bothering to control her rage, "How could you do that to me? You gave my fortune away to that terrible man!"

George stopped and stared at her. She realized then that she may well have just made a terrible mistake as he studied her and this new, shocking behavior on her part. "I gave you everything I could legally give you, without betraying myself," he said coolly.

She wondered suddenly if her hold on him was not so tight as she had previously been convinced. "I don't understand. I gave adequate testimony of the abuse," she said, pouting prettily at him.

"Yes, that's true, you gave adequate testimony. He gave exceptional testimony, however; and that left me without the possibility of outright denying the divorce without arousing suspicion.

"You may think me ignorant of the machinations amongst blood elves, but I assure you, I am not. That's part of why I was selected for this position. If I didn't have any personal interest invested in this case, knowing the nature of your society as I do, I would never have granted even what I did.

"Indeed, I know that your interest in me is almost exclusively based upon this case, now that I've heard both sides of it," He concluded.

Chalisse walked up to him, "Oh, George, you couldn't be more wrong. I know that the manner in which my people live works against me. That's part of why I was hoping that you would understand now that you'd gotten a chance to get to know me. The evidence against me was a result of self-defense, not of greed," she leaned into him, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "You must believe me, nothing is as it seems here."

She curled her hand around his arm, then ran it down his barreled, wizened chest. "I didn't know you were the one who would be overseeing my case, or I would have gone to someone else. I chose you because I could see the wisdom and integrity in your face, George. I confess that I hoped you would speak to the Justice that would oversee my case, but that was all.

"You believe me, don't you, George? Have the last few days meant so little to you, then?" His face relaxed, and he kissed her.

"I believe you, Chalisse. And I'm sorry the case didn't go more to your liking. I did the best I could with what information was presented at the time. You may not believe that, but I should have decided in his favor," he told her when he pulled back from her.

He walked over to the desk to sit down, and Chalisse pulled a face filled with hate at him. His best wasn't good enough. And she now had to get rid of him before he could expose her. She had a lot of plans to make, and she couldn't afford either the distraction or the potential danger.

She walked over to the bar in his office and poured him a drink. From a hidden pocket in her skirts, she pulled a tiny phial. Pouring it into both of their drinks in equal measure, she pulled the antidote out and dropped that into a shot glass. Filling the shot glass with bourbon, she washed it down.

No matter which glass he took, he would die. No matter which glass he took, she would not. She poured two drinks and took them over to him on a small tray. She allowed him to take the glass he wished first, just in case he, like most blood elf nobles, might suspect something if she took hers first.

He took it and chugged it down. Good, now all she had to do was distract him long enough for it to take effect and produce the symptoms of a natural death… and then just let him die.

She climbed onto his desk in front of him. "Well, George, you ensured that I won't have to live with him, that I won't be destitute, and that my government won't have me put to death for things that weren't my fault. I'm very grateful to you for that."

"Really?" he said, smiling slyly up at her. "Just how grateful are you for that?"

"Mmm," she told him, "why don't you look and find out?"

He ran a hand up her leg, "I haven't much time before my next case, but I think I can find enough time to accept a little gratitude." He grinned, obviously thinking himself clever with his innuendo.

He pulled her down to the end of the desk so that she was sitting on the edge of it. Then he pulled his own robe open, and she was looking at his aged chest. A bit of a mood spoiler, she thought, consider that he'd given up keeping himself in shape long enough ago to leave him rather wrinkled and portly.

But there were thoughts of Quardis to comfort her and help her maintain a resemblance of eager lust. So she indulged them fully as he began to finger her. "Well," he told her, "there's no faking that, that's for sure," he smirked as he felt the wetness that had seeped through her entire vaginal area, dousing her folds and entrance in clear fluid.

She didn't necessarily need to fake it; she just needed to raise it through a method outside of interest in him. Because, of course, she had none of that. But she didn't say that, she simply smiled at him, "No, there isn't."

He continued to finger her, and she tried to give appropriate moans and groans at appropriate times. She was distracted by her memories of her threesome with Darius and Quardis, trying hard to disassociate herself from what she was doing with this man. She loathed him, really. He was so beneath her, he was old (for his species), and he wasn't very good at what he was doing.

His fingers continued to dig roughly into her folds, then grind into her vaginal canal as he groped and fondled, searching for something, she wasn't sure what. Apparently, he either found it or gave up, as he then brought his penis to press against her.

He shoved into her, roughly and without finesse. He started to hump at her, grunting and grinding against her spread legs, his wrinkled old scrotum slapping against her. She endured it this time, because she had to keep him there until he managed to die. Whereas before she had endured it for the purpose of retaining the family fortune… and that had been easier.

After a few minutes, he stopped, and she thought perhaps her thoughts had distracted her so much that she'd missed the big finish. Instead, though, he pulled her off of the desk, and roughly turned her around. Pushing her down onto his desk, he said, "I love fucking you like this. After a few months have passed, we can do this every day at the office and again at home. I can't wait, fucking you feels so damned good."

He shoved into her from behind, and then to her surprise, he pulled back out and, without preamble, shoved into her rectum. She stifled a cry of pain and started trying to pull away from him. He, either thinking she was enjoying it or blissfully unaware that he'd gotten the wrong spot, simply pumped fast and hard. "You're so tight, Chalisse, so fucking tight!" He was speeding up now, and she was still trying to escape.

Her flailing and moaning (genuine now, but for all the wrong reasons) caused her to knock several items off of the desk. They both ignored it, caught up in their individual feelings.

Finally, he released inside of her, keeping her yanked roughly against him, as if to try to be as deep inside of her as possible to release his sperm. "Yes," he grunted, "yes!"

Releasing her, he sat back into his chair, and pulled her down into his lap. "You're delicious, Chalisse. So very delicious. I can't wait to do this more often." She relaxed against him, trying to let the pain in her backside subside.

"Won't that be wonderful?" she said.

At last, at long last, the poison began to have its effect. He started to gasp for air, and she sat up and away from him. His face began to bulge, as did his hands. He stared at her and gulped out, "Help!"

She smiled and stepped back. "You should have done a better job, and I would have let you live. Hell, I might have let you fuck me a few more times, even. But you failed me, so it's time for you to be on your way to the great beyond."

His face began to turn blue as the expanding flesh around it crushed his windpipe. He gasped for air a few more times, and much as she had earlier when he'd impaled her rectum, he flailed helplessly. She waved a pert good-bye to him, and then left the room, climbing through the portal to Silvermoon as he watched her, desperate begging clear on his face.

She dusted her hands off as she stepped into the spire. That was done. Hmm, what was next on the agenda?

* * *

Jin'Kora took out a violin, and Nerissa started to dance to the merry tune he played. Whitecrow joined her, and oddly enough, so did Malovici, who seemed to be jamming along to his own personal rhythm (which differed widely from the tune Jin was playing).

Nantu told Nerissa, "You dance ter'ble, gurl."

"Well," Nerissa replied to her teasing, "why don't you just show us how it's done?"

Nantu jumped up and once again danced by the light of the fire. This time, surely by the providence of some deity or other, there was no terrified blood elf tied to a tree. The five at the fire dance and laughed or played violin, suspending the tension for themselves for a while. Ferruk stayed back out of the pool of firelight, watching.

Several times, Whitecrow nearly took his own hand off with the broad span of his horns, to the laughter of the others. Malovici stepped in the fire from banging his head too roughly (apparently, even the undead still needed their brains to be reasonably intact), and Nantu had stripped down to a rather slinky shirt and a skirt.

Nerissa simply danced, and Ferruk just watched her. He noticed the antics of the others, but he mostly paid attention to her. The firelight painted her an even deeper shade, kissing her skin with warm tones of rich bronze and gold. Her red hair lit up, seeming the same color as the flickering edges of the fire itself. It often flared out from her head, blazing like the fire as she spun or dipped.

Ferruk tried to squelch the feelings that rose in him. He tried to focus on the mission they were on. He tried to focus on pretty nearly anything besides the thoughts that kept plaguing him.

She was so beautiful with her golden skin, green eyes, and brilliant hair. And there she was, dancing in the firelight with Whitecrow, in front of some strange elf that she was hugging. And here Ferruk was, trying not to care.

It was, he realized, the first time he'd ever felt that way. He'd never felt any concern over whether a woman was attracted to him. He'd never cared if a woman found pleasure elsewhere.

Orcs are hot headed, given to extremes of emotion. He'd heard it all his life. He'd felt it in some ways. He'd witnessed it in more orc men and women than he could even remember. But this… this was the first time he'd had to face these feelings himself. He'd thought himself well disciplined.

"You will be tested one day. Then you'll begin to know what quality of man you really are," his mentor had told him. He'd taken this statement to mean any of the experiences in his life. But he'd always managed to get control over himself. Anger, fear, even extreme joy, he'd always managed to temper.

Not once had he ever felt jealousy to any significant degree. But now it coursed through him like a stag before the Hunt. Desperate and bounding, it evaded his attempts to quell it.

Because he realized that, to her way of thinking, he really was ugly. "You know how I hate to have anything ugly around me!" she'd told her father. He already knew how she felt.

For the first time in his life, he cared that he was considered ugly. An accident of fate that made him an orc, or a fortuitous event, depending upon one's viewpoint. Generally his view was the latter, but tonight, watching her dancing (as silly as the dance was), it felt like the former.

Then, unexpectedly, she left the fire. She went off to his right a ways, before calling his name softly. Moving quietly, he walked towards her, stopping a moment to watch her. She called him again, looking around for him. She seemed hesitant to go too far from camp, and he was glad of that.

He moved towards her again, and she must have caught some movement or sound, because she whirled towards him. She smiled, a warm and welcoming smile that made his heart trip over itself. "Yes?" he said, still feeling very subdued and quiet.

"Why don't you come dance with us?" She walked over to where he was standing.

"You've never seen me dance, or you wouldn't ask," he replied, trying to lighten up his own conflicted emotional state.

She stepped closer to him, and he struggled not to leap forward and throw her down right then and there. Another step, and she was so close now that they were only inches apart. "I would like to see you dance, you might be surprised. Besides, I'm a terrible dancer, myself."

"That's true," he said.

Closer again. "You were watching me?" she asked, her voice low and sultry in the cold evening air. He smelled her sweat and smoke from the fire, and some sort of flower.

"Yes," he admitted thickly, trying to ignore the urgent murmuring of the blood that was engorging his penis.

"I didn't know," she said, her voice sounding odd, slightly hoarse.

He said nothing, not sure how to respond to that statement. They were almost touching now, her scent filling his nostrils and her beauty filling his vision. It was cool, but he felt himself start to sweat as well.

"I watched you dancing with Whitecrow," he told her, feeling like an ass even as he blurted it out. "He really cares for you," he told her.

"Yes, I was devastated when I thought he was dead today. I've never lost anyone before, besides my grandparents when I was very small. I don't remember them well, and it wasn't that much of an event for me, I didn't really understand death then."

"I noticed that you were pretty torn up," now he sounded angry, but he couldn't help it.

"He's been very kind," she said, "I don't know how I'd cope with all of this without him. Nantu's sweet, as well, but I have a hard time understanding her sometimes."

"So is that what you came out here for? To tell me how much you care for Whitecrow?" he asked her, his voice straining under the weight of his anger.

"No," she said, sounding puzzled. "Why would I do that?"

"Wasn't that what you were going to tell me earlier?" He was scowling now, the inner turmoil translating itself into his face.

"What?" she frowned at him. "I would think what I was going to tell you should be obvious," she snapped, folding her arms.

"Well," he said, "in that case, we don't need to embarrass ourselves by talking about it, do we." Now it was his turn to fold his arms in front of himself while he glared at her.

She recoiled as if slapped. "Embarrass ourselves?" she repeated. "I seem to recall that you weren't exactly running away back there in the inn," she snarled at him, and turned brusquely, nearly running back towards the fire.

He looked blankly after her. He ran his hand over his face, trying to clear the cobwebs of confusion from his mind. What the hell had just happened?

Nerissa stumbled back to the fire, fighting the tears that welled up in her eyes. Embarrass themselves, indeed, she thought. What a cruel, ugly thing to say. She knew she hadn't been the best traveling companion, but she'd changed. She was trying, and she was doing the best she could to cooperate.

And for what? So he could slap her down like a child. So he could continue to berate her. So that he could talk down to her and reject and mock her, that's what.

She sat down on her bedroll, ignoring the continued merriment just feet from her. Nantu, seeing the despondent and lost look about Nerissa, said, "Nerissa, why dun ya try on yer armor?"

Nerissa looked up and nodded, accepting the package that Jin'Kora happily handed off to her. With Nantu's help, she pulled the dark armor on, buckling and latching and cinching for several moments. The final touch was the helm, a massive fabrication that made her look menacing and imposing.

Ferruk, having walked back into the camp, said, "You can barely lift your sword, I'm surprised you can stand up in all that."

Nerissa stared at him in shock and hurt, "Why are you being such an asshole? What crawled up your ass and died there?"

"I'll fart, and you can bend over and find out," he said.

Malovici started laughing, until a sharp look from Nantu cut him off. Nerissa stomped away, leaving them all there, shoving her broadsword into the scabbard on her back with a rough, angry movement. Lifting the helm off, she placed it on her bedroll as she passed it. Whitecrow moved to follow her, and Ferruk stood up in his path.

For a moment, the two men stood face to face. "She's not safe out there by herself," Whitecrow said.

"So you think you're gonna keep her safe, do you?" Ferruk snapped.

"I intend to do so, yes," Whitecrow replied, his placid face expressionless.

"Is that all you intend?" Ferruk growled back at him.

Now Whitecrow frowned, "What are you accusing me of, Ferruk?" he said, his voice showing the first signs of anger.

"What do you think? You're going to follow a woman out into the darkness, and you wonder why I'm asking your intent?" Ferruk said challengingly.

Whitecrow stood staring at him for a moment. The he stepped towards Ferruk, "You know what I think? I think you're spoiling for a fight. You've known me way too long for me to buy what you're saying right now. This is nothing but you trying to provoke someone so you can have a fight."

Ferruk stared at him. Their eyes locked and sparred, liquid brown against bright green. The green ones gave ground first, and the brown ones looked away into the forest. Whitecrow left Ferruk standing there, battling himself yet again, and went in search of Nerissa. Stopping at the edge of the camp, Whitecrow turned around.

"Whatever's going on with you, sort it out. You've let your charge wander off into the woods by herself, and even tried to stop me from following to keep her safe. Not even a rookie would make this kind of mistake."

Ferruk turned with an angry snarl to watch the black tip of Whitecrow's tail fade into the blackness around it. Prostrate rage flared up in him, coloring his vision and clouding his mind. That part of him that was reasonable bellowed at him that Whitecrow was right. Another part didn't care. The part that didn't care was by far the largest part at the moment.

The part that was filled with rage and desire and confusion—that part. He struggled not to embrace it, struggled not to fire everything he had at Whitecrow and then take what he wanted so fiercely that he could barely stand it.

He looked at Nantu then, and found her staring at him with a coldly expressionless look on her face. She said nothing, but when she turned her back on him in clear disdain, it said more than any words she could have possibly spoken. He felt chastised, yet remained conflicted.

And worse, Whitecrow was right. Realization bubbled to the surface of his mind then. He wanted Nerissa so desperately that he was willing and ready, even eager, to compromise her safety. It was illogical, even stupid and juvenile. He wanted her so badly that he would compromise his friendships. He wanted her so badly that he would give up everything of worth in his whole life out of absurd jealousy.

All for a woman he'd known only a matter of days. A spoiled, self-important, selfish, uncooperative brat of a woman. A girl, really. He was so emotionally tossed that he was letting his desire for this woman tear apart friendships and confuse his mind. He wanted to blame it on her. He wanted to believe that she had seduced him or tempted him or in some way bewitched him.

But it was his own mind that betrayed him with desire for her. It was his own mind that fought with him and yearned for her. The betrayal of his friends, of himself, of his people, and even of her, was his and his alone. He groaned and sank down onto the ground, dropping his forehead onto his hands. What was he doing, what was he thinking?

He was being cruel to her, but no longer in response to her own behavior. He was being cruel to friends who had done nothing. He was making stupid mistakes. The worst part of it all was that some demon inside of him was cheering him on, jeering at him to just take her, to own her, to claim her and mark her as his own.

The demon of his own desire. A lusting longing that came only from him, and nowhere else. This was his great test, and he was failing it as surely as he knew his own name. A name that suddenly seemed so much more appropriate than ever before. Ferruk Firecaller, who had once called up a fire that rivaled the flames of hell, saving a small group of villagers from a lion in the Barrens when he was young.

Now the fires he called brought danger instead of chasing it away. Danger, and the demon of his desire and jealousy.

He should find her and apologize… find her, with Whitecrow. He clenched his jaw and felt a new surge of jealousy undo all the nearly-clear thinking that he'd just managed. He had to get his emotions under control, he just had to.

* * *

The gnome waited diffidently until the human with vibrant red firelike hair turned to him. "Yes, Alec?" the man asked the gnome.

"One of the justices has died, sir," Alec responded.

"How unfortunate," Rhonin said. "Who was it?"

"It was George Cromwell, sir," Alec answered. "I thought I would tell you, as he was a friend of yours?" Alec wasn't sure he remembered correctly. "And of course, because I know you like to keep abreast of what happens in the city."

"What did he die of?" Rhonin wanted to know.

"Natural causes, sir," Alec said.

Rhonin frowned, "Can you be more specific, please? He was only 56 years old."

"Anaphylactic shock, sir," Alec told him.

Rhonin's frown deepened. "He wasn't allergic to anything," he informed Alec.

"I wouldn't know, sir," Alec answered, "perhaps he found something he wasn't aware he was allergic to."

"In Dalaran? A man 56 years old, after living here for years and years, suddenly finds something unfamiliar that he's deathly allergic to? I don't think so, Alec. This will require more investigation. Something isn't right here." Rhonin's mind was made up.

He followed Alec to George's quarters. There, he searched the room, but could find nothing that spoke of a magical assault. He could sense portal magic residue, but not where the portal went. So the death wasn't magical, which made sense considering Dalaran's defense system.

What was it, then?

He finally decided that it was suspicious enough to warrant a special form of investigation. He sent Alec to get a scroll from he and his wife's apartments. They were difficult to make, expensive, and thus exceeding rare. He wouldn't ordinarily use one for a questionable investigation, but in this case, with the possible murder of a justice within the walls of Dalaran itself… he felt he had little recourse in the matter.

Such perfidious behavior could never go unanswered. If the sanctity of Dalaran were to be preserved, he would have to investigate this thoroughly, far more so because it was a Justice whose life was claimed.

Alec returned shortly with the requested scroll, and Rhonin lifted it. Intoning in a chant, he read from the scroll. When he was finished, the scroll crumbled to dust and filtered to the floor.

He looked up as two ghostly figures shimmered to life in the room. "Who is that woman?" he asked Alec.

"That's the Lady Chalisse Mequa Trasamme, sir," replied Alec. "There was a hearing this evening for a divorce. It was an emergency hearing, as the husband claimed that his wife was trying to kill him."

"How coincidental," Rhonin said as he watched the ghostly woman pull two phials out of her robes. He watched impassively as she gave one to George, and drank the other, then watched them have sex on the desk.

An angry tick in his cheek was all that betrayed his emotions as he watched her coldly stand and watch George die, then step through the portal.

"I'd say the husband's suit has a certain merit, wouldn't you, Alec?" The gnome nodded and followed as the massive human left the room. He wondered just how Rhonin would handle this revelation.

Somehow, although he had only had one very brief interaction with the woman in question, he was unsurprised at the findings once he had seen she was involved.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Nerissa held back her tears until she was out of the firelight. Standing inside the forest, she let them wash down her face. She was miserable, and she was embarrassed to be crying yet again. It was so strange, one moment she felt that he had been responsive, even as filled with desire as she was… then the very next day he was deriding her and warning her not to embarrass herself by stating that she was attracted to him.

What a confusing, upsetting, unkind man!

She heard footsteps and rustling leaves behind her and straightened up, wiping the tears away hastily. Yes, yet another way to embarrass herself, just what she needed.

"Nerissa?" To her relief, it was Whitecrow's voice.

"I'm here," she said, and he came up behind her.

"Tiny girl, I know you're upset, but please don't go off alone like this. It's just not safe," he said to her, his voice kind, but filled with a firm warning.

She choked on a sob and stammered out, "I'm… I'm sorry. I was just… just so upset!"

"You have to let your good sense rule over your upset, tiny girl. You can't let anything take priority over your life," he was beside her now, lifting her chin with his finger.

"I'm sure Ferruk would be only too happy if I died," she said. "He was probably trying to get me to run off and kill myself," she continued bitterly.

"I have no idea what to tell you about Ferruk, Nerissa. In all the many years I've known him, not once, not a single time besides now, have I ever seen him behave so. I am astonished, and cannot answer for him in any way. What's going on with him, the way he's treating all of us, is far beyond my ability to understand or explain," his voice was troubled, a lancet of concern slicing through it, easy for her to discern.

"When I thought you had died today, it was the first time I've really ever experienced that sort of loss. I know I haven't known you long, but I really care about you, and I couldn't stand the sorrow I felt at the thought of losing you." She turned to him and threw her arms around him.

A few moments later, after she'd gotten herself under control, she continued, "More than that, though, was the fact that I also realized that I am deeply attracted to him. I felt that I should tell him," she said, her voice growing quieter and quieter as she struggled to get the words out past her humiliation. "In case he… in case something happened to either of us.

"When I tried, he told me not to embarrass myself," she said, muffling it against his armor.

"Well," Whitecrow said, "I didn't expect that. You're aware that he's an orc, right?"

She laughed and stood up as they released each other. "Yes, I think I might have gotten that idea somewhere along the line." She sniffled, and gratefully accepted the linen he offered her, blowing her nose with a rather resounding snort.

"That doesn't matter to you?" Whitecrow asked.

"Maybe it goes beyond that," she said. "There's something about him, something real, something genuine. I've never seen that in anyone I've known. And he doesn't put up with any games or bullshit. I feel like I can sort of be free around him. I think… I thought that he didn't judge me when I was honest, even if he didn't like what I had to say, just when I wasn't." She sighed and leaned back against the tree again.

Whitecrow stood beside her for a bit, before finally asking, "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"There's nothing for me to do about it, he thinks I'm some kind of monster," she said. "And he's probably right. I'll always be an elf; I'll always be an heiress. I can't really stop being who I am, even though I've always sort of wanted to."

"So maybe you see him as a way out of that life?" Whitecrow asked.

She cringed, then said, "There is no way out of that life, it's who I am and who I'll always be. I guess I see him as a place where I can be that, and me, too." She looked at him then, "That makes no sense at all, does it."

"It makes perfect sense, Nerissa. And if there's one thing that I think Ferruk would prize above most things in anyone he cares about, is authenticity. And once, a few days ago, I would have encouraged you." She looked at him sharply, and he nodded, "Yes, I would have. There's precedent for it. In fact, pretty recent precedent. Thrall loved a human woman; Dogal loved a human woman named Sophie, who is a woman held in the highest possible esteem among orcs; and Groll and Shantille are living in the Barrens. They're minor celebrities, and they're an orc man and a blood elf woman. So far as I know, rumor has it that she's expecting, even.

"So it's not exactly like it's never happened before, it has. And the door has been pried open for it to be less frowned upon than it was in the past, as well. So a few days ago, I would have encouraged you."

He sighed and shuffled his hooves, leaning back against a tree close to the one she was leaning on. "But with the way he's been acting lately… he's a stranger. And he's not a stranger that I'd suggest any woman allow herself to indulge an attraction towards. At first, he was just crabby and out of sorts, having been sent on a mission he didn't like and didn't want. The last few hours, though… I don't know.

"He's acting dangerous, not just distracted," he said. He sounded sad, as if he was watching a friend slip away.

Nerissa thought that maybe he was. She couldn't help but wonder why, but she said nothing as they stood for a bit longer, looking at the night sky.

She finally headed back to camp, and Whitecrow came with her in companionable silence. Each was lost to their own thoughts, though both were wondering what was happening in the mind of a certain orc.

The next morning dawned sharp and cold, with the sun shining down on them with stark, almost painful clarity. They cleared the camp quickly, and Nerissa gave Jin'Kora a hug as he left, clinging to her childhood friend for a moment before waving good-bye. He flew away, leaving the party behind to go on their way.

Nerissa mounted, and tried to catch up to the group, only to meet with the requisite horseplay on the gelding's part. He was sleepy and didn't want to be bothered. She finally understood that she wasn't asking his permission anymore—she was the boss now. And although he wasn't taking to it with any degree of enthusiasm, he was starting to get the picture also.

She galloped up to them, and then settled into a gentle lope. Soon, they were moving steadily out into the dangerous land of the Howling Fjord, with the wind behind them giving evidence to one possible reason for the name of the place. For much of the morning, the only sound was the mournful call of the keening wind and the music of their mounts' feet.

Everyone avoided Ferruk, giving him a wide berth, without even bothering to find out what kind of mood he was in. Nerissa unconsciously stayed on the other side of the group from him, putting a Nantu-Whitecrow-Malovici wall between them. She didn't care to know if he was feeling surly this morning or not.

She'd had enough, and her attraction towards him couldn't overcome her growing dislike of his treatment of her. He was slowly killing that budding flower of promise, stepping on it in casual orc form. Neither of them really realized it, though Nantu and Whitecrow suspected it.

This morning was to be no exception to the rule, either, no matter how she tried to avoid him. Around midmorning, he stopped the group and they ate. Then he told her that it was time to train again. Her face stoic, she pulled her helm out of her pack and crushed it onto her head, wincing as one of her ears folded painfully and she had to right it.

Determined to get it over with, she followed him the few steps from the others, and they began sparring in the road. Briefly, she held out against him, but of course, she wasn't as practiced as he was. Her gear was now substantially better than before, though, and her new broadsword seemed to almost sing as she swung it.

The wind was now accompanied by the 'swish' of their weapons through the air, the clang of metal, and Ferruk's barking commands. After some time, she began to feel fatigued, and Ferruk started landing more blows. She fought hard to keep her place, landing a couple blows of her own, and feeling a surge of triumph.

She finally became so tired that she could barely lift her sword, and Ferruk pressed his advantage hard, slamming her with a blow from his mace. So powerful a blow, indeed, that it snapped her forearm, bringing a cry of pain from her. She now held her broadsword with only her left arm, and to her surprise, he slammed the mace into her again, driving agony through her arm.

She cried out again, and pain and fatigue mingled to make her sway on the verge of losing consciousness. "That's the reality you face, Nerissa. No one's going to stop when you get a minor little injury and coddle you," Ferruk growled at her.

Summoning Holy energy, Nerissa Healed the broken arm. "I didn't ask you to stop and coddle me, did I," she snapped back.

Anger flowed through her, and she felt the sword lift again. She remembered the feeling she'd had yesterday. That sense of coupling with her weapon and the desire to win. She melded with that feeling again, and took a deep breath.

Then, she looked at Ferruk, and this time, she saw the enemy. She saw him through new eyes—the eyes of a powerful, unconquerable predator. She parried two blows from him, and forgot about the fatigue she felt as she studied him quickly. He wore mail; a weak and flimsy material compared to her plate armor… no competition for the massive sword she wielded.

For all his brute strength, he was vulnerable. She noted this with cold detachment. He was vulnerable… there. She landed a brutal blow that drew blood. And he was vulnerable… here. She landed another, pausing on her way to bounce one of his maces backwards. A blow from the other mace landed on her arm, and she noted it, but didn't care.

She was altered, no longer cringing from the pain. He landed another blow, causing a deep bruise in her thigh that made moving difficult. She paused and ignored his strikes for a moment as she Healed herself. Then she returned to the business at hand… the business of dispatching this foe.

For her, he no longer had an identity; he was simply the prey, and she the predator. The scent of his blood quickened her own, and she measured each blow he took; seeking and finding each opening he gave her. A blow too low, painful for her—moreso for him. She slammed her sword into the side of his neck, the links there grinding against her sword with a sickening shriek.

She pushed forwards again, no remorse or sense of concern giving her pause as she pushed harder. He staggered and stepped back, then tried to rally. She pursued him ruthlessly, driving him back another step. Her sword battered his maces aside and dug in between them, slicing into mail and calling up more blood.

Again, then again. She landed more blows, drew more blood. Now her own blood was roaring in her ears, and she felt an unaccountable thrill run through her. She was utterly dominating him now, driving him back and back.

Finally, it was he who dropped to one knee, letting the tips of his maces fall to the ground. "I yield," he said to her, his voice harsh with pain.

She held her sword to his neck, her breath coming fast and sharp now as her senses were filled with blood lust. The kill was hers now, hers! "Nerissa, no!" Whitecrow shouted at her.

She trembled as she fought the powerful high of triumph and predatorial dominion. Finally, she let the sword tip droop towards the ground, and pulled her helm off, letting her hair tumble down to glow like fire around her head.

Her eyes met Ferruk's and she held his gaze. Nantu Healed them both, but they remained as they were, Nerissa looking down at Ferruk, and he on one knee looking up at her.

"I think I can hold my own," she told him finally.

He nodded and stood, looking at her quietly. She stepped towards him; her body alight with an increasing desire. She took another step towards him, until they were so close she could reach out and touch him if she'd wanted to—or to say, if she'd been able to bring herself to, because she very much wanted to.

"Anything else you think you need to teach me?" She asked him.

"Maybe we could both learn not to play with fire," came his answer.

"Yeah? Well maybe I like fire," she said to him, moving so close now that she was looking up at him from only inches away. She studied him, her eyes roaming his face, her desiring burning her with its intensity.

Then she reached up and poked him in the chest. "You," another poke, "are going" poke, "to start treating me with respect," another poke in his chest.

"And if I don't?" he asked her, his eyes studying her with the same intensity.

She lifted one eyebrow, the length of it flickering up, then down. "Then I'll kick your ass again." She smirked at him and whirled away, whistling for her mount. "And now, we both know I can do it," she told him.

He whistled as well, and mounted his worg. "Well, at least we won't have to be held up by training sessions."

She grinned as they set off, and said to Malovici, "He's a sore loser, isn't he?"

Malovici chuckled, "Always has been."

From ahead, Ferruk said, "I can hear you!"

Malovici and Nerissa exchanged amused looks, and Whitecrow and Nantu snickered. Ferruk sighed. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?" he said.

"Um… yeah… No!" Malovici said.

Never once had he considered himself to be a person led by his emotions. He was the rational shaman, the spiritual leader and advisor to others. He tempered other people's tempestuous behavior. When they were drowning in confusion, self-doubt, and fear, it was to him they came to be brought back down to Azeroth.

But it was all he could do to keep from stopping the group and dragging that infuriatingly sexy woman out into the woods. At last he understood the men who had come to him, obsessed with this or that woman. Well, in part he did. He understood how they felt now, but he couldn't imagine being obsessed with any other woman than her.

He also had quit seeing her as a child, or a barely grown girl. And that somehow distressed him. Their two cultures were very different. Should he see her through their eyes, or the eyes of his own people who would consider her to be quite old- on the verge of elderly. He glanced at her and almost laughed out loud. That particular idea was absurd on the face of it.

She didn't look even slightly elderly. But she didn't look like the young girl that her own people condescendingly considered her to be. Now that her behavior had improved, as well, she seemed even less like a young girl. She seemed like a woman in full possession of the cognizance of her own personal power.

He sighed and decided that he'd just have to take her on her own merits, and stop trying to stuff her into the box of either her people, or his own.

It was just that there were so many obstacles. The first and most obvious of them all being that she was attracted to someone else. Then the fact that they were two different species, as well as the radical difference in their life spans. He would die long before she even reached the first quarter of her average life span.

He looked around, trying to enjoy the brilliant sunshine, the green grass, and the grazing wildlife. By late afternoon, he was ready for a break, though, and called again for a stop. They'd come upon a spot that was obviously a popular stopping point for travelers. A fire pit left a gaping black hole in the ground, with a few stumps and a fallen log circling it.

Ferruk dismissed the possibility of an ambush, as there had been one attempt the day before, so another attempt so soon was unlikely at worst.

They stopped and sat down, peeling their armor off and relaxing, except for Malovici. He never seemed to require the same relaxation as the others. His joints protesting from the ride, Ferruk stretched and then heaved down on the fallen log, a perfect spot to sit by the fire Malovici was even now starting in the pit.

Nerissa sank down beside him, and wordlessly handed him some meat of some sort. He was acutely aware of her leg as it pressed against his, small and delicate and warm. Thanking her, he ate in silence, listening to the idle chatter around him. They were discussing the mission, wondering what Prince Keleseth was up to, and various other discussions.

He was looking into the fire, thinking about what it would be like to send them all away and mate with Nerissa right there in the grass by the fallen log. Or maybe over the log. Or perhaps on the log. Maybe…

Her leg seemed to be almost burning into him now, and he thought he should shift away from her. But he wanted the contact, he wanted the warmth. And more than that, she wasn't sitting beside Whitecrow; she was sitting beside him, with her heat and her scent sinking into him. He could hear her voice, her breathing, even the rustle of her clothing; all so close to him. Her hands looked delicate and small, her leg tiny beside his.

He almost felt as if his thoughts were no longer his own, belonging solely to her. He hated her for it, but he wanted her more than he hated her. He wanted his mind back, he wanted clarity and peace and the same ease of thought he'd enjoyed most of his life. She was disrupting that, disorganizing the orderly procession of reality.

It was exciting.

It was frightening.

He couldn't resist touching her any longer, and laid his hand on her thigh, running it down to her knee, then patting her knee. "We should get going," he said by way of making an excuse for touching her thus. He waited for her to get up first, but a chorus of groans rose up. None of them really wanted to get going, him included.

"I know," he said, "but I doubt that Keleseth is going to wait around for us to be ready to fight him before he produces some sort of mischief."

The grumbling turned into rumbles of begrudging acceptance, and the others stood up. Immediately, as her tight round butt appeared very near his face when Nerissa stood, Ferruk realized his mistake. Unbidden, a growl of frustrated desire rose into his throat, and he clenched his fists.

She turned to him, "You okay?"

No, no, he wasn't okay at all, he thought, but only said, "Fine, thanks. I'm right behind you." Her back to the others, she remained looking at him.

A slow grin spread across her face as her eyes captivated his own. "'Hope you like the view," she said, her voice so soft that Ferruk doubted the others heard her.

He stood up, the action bringing him to unendurable proximity with her. "Maybe I do," he said.

"What are you going to do about it?" she echoed him.

He struggled again for control. She was right, she knew what she was doing, he realized. "Be careful, Nerissa, you might not like the particular fire you're playing with now," he told her, his voice low and menacing.

"Not everything is a game, Ferruk," Nerissa told him. "I'm going to try this one more time—" When he made to speak and interrupt her, she said, "No. You'll listen this time," she said, a thundercloud gathering in her face and warning him to be silent. Conflicted, he stayed quiet.

"I do care about Whitecrow, and about Nantu, and even Malovici." She stopped him again as he once more made to speak. He was disconcerted at not only her assertive behavior, but also his reaction to it. He scowled at her; she was undeterred.

"I knew what I was doing, what I was asking for, in Vengeance Landing, and I know now, Ferruk. I don't know why you've been such an ass to me the last couple of days, but it's starting to make me forget how attracted I am to you. I think you owe me, and the others, an apology," she told him.

His breathing caught, and then sped up. "What, I'm supposed to believe that you're attracted to the ugly orc?" he snarled. He couldn't believe her, it was some kind of game, he was sure of it.

"Have you never said something you didn't mean when you were angry, or before you'd gotten to know someone?" She crossed her arms, a gesture now familiar to him—she was about to become obstinate. "I know that's not true, you've been pretty nasty to me, speaking before thinking and making assumptions about me. Pretty hypocritical to hold it against me when you do it yourself."

"Who says I didn't mean it?" he said, suddenly wanting to win the argument.

She blinked at him and her face registered disappointment. "That's it? That's all you've got to say?" She shook her head and turned way, "Fine, Ferruk, you win. Have things your way."

She started to walk away, and it suddenly sank in for him that she really was walking away, in more ways than one. It was also a symbolic gesture of sorts. If he let her go now, he might never arrive at this moment again.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back, and this time when he kissed her, he was entirely without any internal conflict at all. She was there, tasting sweet, smelling like some flower he couldn't quite place, warm and soft and small against him, so beautiful… and in his arms. He sought inside her mouth, letting his tongue seek and find out everything about this soft entrance to the first of her secret places.

Her arms curled around his neck, and he pressed her length against his body. She moved slightly, as if to pull away, and he grasped her head and pulled her back. Back to him, back to his questing tongue, back to his body. She seemed to melt into him, and he growled as he felt a sense of deep possessive rightness arise in him.

He couldn't deny that she could dominate him in battle. She'd taken over and driven him to his knees. But here… here she surrendered to him, and he fought an instinctive urge to devour her, to take over every part of her body until he was sated by her delights. He pulled back to look at her, and saw that her lips were swollen slightly by the force of his passion.

Instead of remorse, it brought up in him a deep sense of rightness, as if that small mark of him on her was just the way things should be. He grappled the desire that was driving through his body. "We have to go," he said, his voice betraying him with the graveled sound of lust. "This mission can't wait for us," he continued as if to apologize for not taking this thing to its conclusion right here, right now.

She nodded, "I know," and her voice was also deepened, hoarse from her own feelings. This exposal of her emotions, unfeigned and unrepentant on her part, drove that deep lust through him again, and he groaned at the force of desire that caused his penis to strain desperately against his breeches, burrowing to get free from them and bury itself deeply inside her.

Whitecrow's voice sounded from behind Nerissa, "There are riders approaching," he said.

Ferruk looked up at him with a ferocity that made the other man take a step back. Once more, feelings of jealousy raged through Ferruk, and he fought to dominate himself, to subjugate the feelings to his will. He drank in the scent of the woman he was holding, letting this settle him before nodding.

"Let's gear up," Ferruk said, some semblance of control finally asserting itself over his tumultuous emotions.

Letting go of Nerissa, he quickly pulled his armor back on, then helped her with some of her buckles and latches. When they were done, he watched her disappear behind her helm, a slight disappointment running through him as she did so.

The group mounted, the others trying to smother their smug, knowing looks. Ferruk wanted to glower at them, but couldn't call up the proper degree of annoyance. He felt too buoyant and too filled with surprised pleasure. Suddenly, this mission looked hopeful, even possibly enjoyable.

* * *

Quardis stared at Chalisse. The woman had the gall to confront him for not having killed her daughter yet. Since she had killed a Justice of Dalaran the night before, she'd come trotting in here like she owned the world and was invincible.

"I don't understand what the holdup is," she said arrogantly, "it's just an orc and a woman in sub-par armor, at best."

"Actually," Quardis said to her, his voice arctic and harsh, "it's entirely likely that, now that you've tipped your hand and exposed yourself before your husband could even leave Fairbreeze—a little fact you failed to disclose to me—it's entirely likely that your erstwhile husband has hired a full party.

"Speaking of your incompetence, impatience, and foolish endeavors, I know perfectly well that you killed that Justice. If I know it, you can rest entirely assured that it won't be long before the Dalaran officials know as well.

"Additionally, to top it all off, I've received confirmation that your husband has seen fit to use your family fortune to outfit your daughter in top of the line smithed armor. This means that she won't be the easy kill you sold her to me as.

"Of course, none of this will be easy now, and from henceforth, you will never be seen anywhere around me, nor shall you allow anyone to see you arriving at my home to speak with me. You've tainted yourself with your incompetence, and drawn unwanted attention to yourself—and thus to anyone associated with you. The price of our bargain has just gone up to 50,000 gold pieces, as well as the scroll."

She gasped, "That's outrageous! It's extortion!"

"Then do it yourself, Chalisse, and I'll be glad of it. Your ineptitude has turned this into a high profile problem, and I don't want it to be my problem. 25,000 gold now, 25,000 when we're done… or get out and don't ever show your face around me or my home again."

"I will have to get the gold," she told him tersely, "I don't have it on me right now, obviously."

He crossed his arms, "Obviously." She turned to walk out, and he said dryly, "Oh, and Chalisse? Don't try to kill me, you'll embarrass yourself, and then I'll be forced to kill you for your foolish error."

She smiled tightly, and swept from the room. _I'll be glad when that stupid bitch is dead_, Quardis thought to himself.

As she left the building, Chalisse struggled to control her trembling. She would show him. 25,000 gold, indeed. That would buy her enough mercenaries to kill Nerissa on her own many times over. So that's what she would do.

She had to work fast, else he beat her to it, and she be forced to pay him the exorbitant amounts he was demanding. Infuriated, she stalked off. It wasn't her fault that her husband hadn't just politely died like any normal person would do. Nor would any Dalaran official ever know she'd killed George, because his death looked perfectly natural.

She regretted ever engaging that insufferable bastard. Killing him wasn't altogether a bad idea, either. Especially since he'd had the arrogance to speak to her in such a manner when it was he who was displaying the incompetence, not her. She'd killed two people, and what had he done? Absolutely nothing.

No, she would take care of this herself.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

The Forsaken rider at the front of the three riders stopped within hailing distance of the group, "Ferruk?"

Ferruk rode forward slightly, "Yup, whatcha want?"

"We've further orders from High Executor Anselm, Sir," the man said, and dismounted to walk forward.

Ferruk left the group and met the man halfway. He accepted the orders, and the salute, and each returned to their group. The three Forsaken turned and galloped back the way they came.

"He wants us to clear the Keep completely. He says that they've received intel that there's a Vrykul named Ingvar the Plunderer behind Keleseth's activities. He has requested that we dispatch him, as well as Keleseth," Ferruk told the others.

The group turned and headed for the Keep, able to see the tip of it in the distance now. "I hesitate to bring it up," Malovici said, "but how do we know that this isn't another attempt to ambush us?"

"The seal is official," Ferruk said with a frown. "But I think you're right, hold on a minute."

Ferruk activated the attunement crystals, trying not to grab his head in pain, _High Executor, we've received a missive from three Forsaken riders. They claim that it's from you, and that I am to investigate deeper into the Keep and find one called Ingvar the Plunderer. I would like to confirm that this message is from you, Sir._

The reply came back, distant and without inflection, _You've been a Horde soldier long enough to know how to recognize an official missive, Ferruk, and thus not to bother me with this sort of thing._

Ferruk shrugged and looked it over again. "He says it's official," he told the others, and they continued on their way through the afternoon.

"I estimate it will take us another two days to reach the Keep," Whitecrow said. Nantu nodded.

Malovici stood up, "I'd like to see how Nerissa does in combat against me, if you don't mind," he told her. She nodded and pulled the insufferable helm out of her pack again.

They stood facing each other, and to Nerissa, Malovici reminded her of a geist, with the way he kept his body long and low to the ground. She'd battled many geists, and knew one of the best ways to deal with them. The problem with them was twofold: first off, they moved extremely swiftly; and secondly, they tended to slash at legs and lower body areas.

Although the second didn't apply to Malovici, the first did. He was very, very fast, but his movements were generally based more upon getting in many fast, or a few very well-placed stabs or jabs. So really, all she had to do was find his pattern… and thus she took the stabs for a few minutes until she established his rhythm. Then she started anticipatory dodging of them. Slowly, not only did she begin to dodge his strikes, but she managed to use his own rhythm against him.

He would stab forwards, and meet the point of her sword. He would dance sideways and meet the edge of it. He would duck down and catch a foot to his face.

Thus, they danced and weaved, Nerissa bobbing out of his way whenever she could, and focusing mainly on keeping his deadly strikes from finding vulnerable spots. The longer the battle continued, the more frustrated Malovici appeared to get. She was landing more and more blows as he tried to change his pattern, only managing to make himself clumsy in the process.

Nerissa Healed herself several times, finally running out of reserve Power. It was at this point that Malovici gained a definitive advantage, although she had done severe damage to him by this point. In the end, it was Nerissa who yielded, though Malovici stood even lower than usual, stooping almost to the ground.

The other three stood up, clapping and high-fiving each other. "Holy… that's the closest I've ever seen Mal come to losing!" Whitecrow exclaimed.

"Be damnd-ed if ya didn't nearly take 'im out," Nantu laughed, clapping, before she Healed them both.

"Losin' your touch, Mal?" Ferruk said to the Deathstalker.

"Dunno how she did it," Malovici said, his unblinking golden orbs staring at her, his countenance indecipherable. He was pleased with this outcome, though no one else could tell by the look on his dead face. The girl showed great promise. "Maybe she needs to teach you guys a thing or two. Not one of you have ever come anywhere near taking me down as she just did."

He helped her to her feet, extending one cold, dry hand to her to help her to her feet from having knelt in order to yield. She pulled her helm off again, and her hair tumbled free, waving vivacious and lively in the howling wind of the Fjord. She smiled at Malovici, pleased by his praise.

"You've got natural talent, girl, I suggest you focus on improving it," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. As she stepped away, he seemed to regress again into his undead state; the battle and discussion that had animated him falling away like a snake shedding its skin. He reached down and picked up a chunk of his thigh from the ground and squatted to sew it back on.

Repulsed, Nerissa turned away. Her eyes met Ferruk's, and she could see the pride in his face, but something else burned there, too. Fascinated, she forgot about the others and stepped towards him as one might approach a banquet table full of delights she's not sure it's time to enjoy just yet.

The others sighed and mounted up to wait for them, Malovici ignoring them all to finish sewing. _At least this time_, he thought to himself, _I don't have to wonder if it's mine or not._ Then he stood up to watch Ferruk and Nerissa. A logical pairing to his way of thinking. He had long since given up silly obsessions with appearances, and learned to embrace the deeper realities of necessity and expedience.

In this particular case, there was Ferruk, who (until the last couple days) was very calm and unnaturally placid for an orc, and the unusually forthright and ebullient blood elf. He was too reserved for his people, and she far too enthusiastic and energetic for hers. Malovici wondered that no elves had tried to kill her before now.

Finally standing up, he said to Ferruk, "I know you two are in heat, but maybe we should get going. Time enough for rutting like rabbits when we camp for the night. It's your own sleep to throw away as you see fit." Whitecrow and Nantu laughed at his comment. If he had thought to drag in some breath (if he could remember how to), he would have sighed.

He wasn't really joking. In point of fact, like all the living did, when they started acting all rutty like that, they radiated greater heat, easily visible to his magical senses. Those two had been hot for each other from the start, her even more than him, though now they seemed to have traded places.

The drawback to being dead, he supposed. He didn't even remember what sexual attraction felt like. But he certainly knew what it looked like, and those two were flaring up like firecrackers every time they caught sight of one another.

Ah, another battle would be fantastic, with its vibrant colors and kaleidoscopic scents… soon. Very soon.

The pair separated and mounted, and the group set off. "No more makeout breaks until we camp," Malovici grumped.

When long shadows began to stretch across the land, and the sun turned a deep orange as it pulled a blanket of twilight over itself, they made camp for the evening.

Ferruk and Nerissa found that while there was a newfound honesty between them about their attraction for one another, there were barriers to actually consummating it. Namely armor. Not to mention the proximity of other people, inescapable given the ever-present likelihood of an ambush.

Beyond that, though, both were insecure for their individual reasons. Ferruk couldn't get his mind around why she found him attractive. Nerissa couldn't really reconcile the treatment he'd given her the last few days. Was he making a mistake? Was she getting herself in too deep?

These were the questions boiling through their minds as they walked away from the camp into the woods nearby. They stayed just outside of the glow of firelight; close enough that the others could easily hear them if they called out in distress, but not so close that they could easily make out what the pair was doing.

Pressing Nerissa against a tree, Ferruk kissed her. That same wild, untamed feeling rose up in him, and he struggled to be gentle. The golden beauty of her skin in the pale gleam of the fire made him crazy with a heavy, crushing sort of lust. He pressed his lips against hers, pulling her away from the tree again, as it made the kiss awkward by preventing her from throwing her head back so he could fully access her.

Growling, he started yanking at the straps on her plate breastplate, fumbling in the dark despite his sharp night vision. He finally managed to free it and drop it, sliding one hand up her undertunic to press her supportive bodice aside. Once one of her breasts was in his hand, heavy and full and yet so very soft, he felt an uncontrolled growl rise up from his chest.

He relinquished her mouth to lift her up against the tree, using the weight of his body to hold her there, resting her butt on his other arm as he licked and then sucked at her breast, kneading it a bit roughly with the other hand. Her breathing was fast and deep, and she curled her fingers in his hair, pulling him more tightly to her breast.

She gasped and moaned as his hands changed position without his mouth ever leaving off tugging and licking at her breast. He smelled blood and pulled back, adjusting his position. His tusk had drawn blood, though it was only a very small cut. He made a passing mental note to file it at the earliest opportunity, and then her other breast was free and he was distracted again.

He switched to that one, growling again as his penis twitched urgently against the inside of his leather underclothing. Straightening up, he looked into her glowing eyes, eyes that betrayed her in the dark but also made her able to see in the same darkness. Eyes that pierced his soul and excited him, confused him, and delighted him all at once.

He felt her fumbling now at his waist, and grabbed her hands with a low growl. He wanted to take his time. He wanted to explore her, feel her, and experience her. She groaned with impatience, and he grinned at her. Easing her down to stand on the ground again, he stepped back, and stood away from her, his hands on her ribs, stroking down the sides of them while his thumbs played across her nipples.

"Patience, Nerissa, patience," he said, knowing it would irritate her, and half enjoying it simply for that fact.

He looked at her breasts, the nipples standing up in the cold air. Then he pulled his chain tunic and his leather undertunic off and tossed them on top of her breastplate. He pulled her close and wrapped his cloak around her to keep her warm as she trembled from the cold. Soon, his heat seeped into her, and she relaxed as he kissed her and kneaded one breast with a free hand. With the other hand, he held her close against him.

As he pulled away, their breath mingled in the cold air, and a shiver ran down his spine at the symbolism of it. She was looking up at him with sleepy, lust-laden eyes, and he struggled to control the primal need that drove through him. He felt her against his chest, her nipples teasing him with their tight hardness and her breasts tantalizing him with their supple softness.

He tugged at her legplate buckles now, trying to free them enough to slip his hand inside. Finally, they clattered to the ground, and he was able to unlace the breeches that foolishly dared to keep him from his objective. Sliding his hand inside, he found her to be so wet from her lust for him that his hand slid across her skin, but tangled in her wet panties.

"Damn it," he snarled, and she giggled.

"Patience, Ferruk, patience," she replied to his exclamation, parroting his voice all too accurately for someone several octaves higher in pitch than him. He growled and pushed her back against the tree again, pulling her breeches down with his other hand, trying not to let in too much cold air while he maneuvered her clothing.

At last, the blasted breeches were out of his way, and he could peel the soaked panties off of his hand with the other hand. He felt her hands traveling up his belly and chest, bumping into his periodically as she struggled to touch him while he touched her. As his finger slid into her slippery, wet folds, she gasped and leaned her head forward against him.

He began to search there, seeking inside her softness for the firmer button of her clitoris. Well before he found it, though, she was panting and pressing against his finger, her hips bucking as she moaned and began to cling to him. Her lips touched his skin, and the heat of her mouth felt like fire against the coldness of the air.

He explored her wetness in the warm darkness of the cloak. She explored his chest in the cold brilliance of the moonlight. Fire and ice danced in perfect union. Their breath mingled again as they kissed, the blessing of the wind. The tree held her pressed against his hand as his finger continued its delighted search, earth lending its strength.

Then he found her clitoris, and she arched and strangled a cry as his finger danced on it, her voice wild and full of lust as she groaned his name. She, the wild one, carrying the essence of that element, giving herself to him freely.

He lifted his head as he felt the vague, distant touch of each of the elements, their blessing, and their delight in this unexpected union. Then he returned to her, shaking his head, clearing his over-active imagination and letting his fanciful though drift away. He slipped his finger up and down, feeling her hips rock against his hand with delicious, sensual abandon.

She reached down again and started to unlace his mail leggings, and he stopped to assist her. Then he stepped out of them, discarding those as well. He returned eagerly to her body, feeling coolness through his leather underbreeches. Her hand slipped inside, freeing his desperately straining penis from its cramped quarters.

He groaned into her hair as her hand slid the length of him, softly seeking and memorizing every veiny bump in his skin, the shape of him, and the softness of his hide. Silk and stone—she caressed him with a breathless longing. He felt his breath quicken at the soft reverence of her touch, the tender delight she took in running her hand up and down him, then encircling his scrotum and fondling it.

With sudden, intense urgency, he wanted to feel her around him, to explore her wet depths, and to dive between her legs and forget himself there. The beautiful night was forgotten. The soft sounds of wildlife and the howl of the wind, forgotten. The whisper of the moon on her face, barely noticed beyond that it was her face, her beautiful face, surrounded in blazing fire.

How he wanted her, how amazed he was at the differences between them! She was so tiny, so lovely, and her golden skin against his green hide was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

He found, to his dismay, that getting inside her wasn't as simple a proposition as he'd thought. He couldn't wrap her legs around him, because her breeches held them together. He could turn her around, but then she would be exposed to the cold, and she was too small and delicate to handle it well or for very long.

Frustrated, he finally settled for pulling one of her boots off, while she giggled and hopped on the other one, then pulling that side of her breeches off. Then, with her breeches dangling from one leg, he lifted her against the tree again. This time, he positioned himself at the entrance to her hot, slippery vaginal entrance. He could barely stand it, he wanted to be inside her so badly now that he was clenching his teeth.

Carelessly, he snagged a lacing from the cloak with his tusk, wiping the blood off of it. He tried to help disentangle it, swatting her hand away to keep her from cutting herself on it. Fully agitated at this point, it didn't help when her breeches got snared in the back of his mail tunic. Finally, to make it easier on himself, he simply pushed her back against the tree and thrust into her.

She cried out loudly, and he stopped, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rough, I'm really sorry," he grunted out, letting go of her and using his leg to support her as he disentangled from the cloak and her breeches.

"No, it's okay," she breathed, "it's fine."

He stood up straight so he could look into her eyes as he started to shift in and out of her. She gasped and thrust against him, her legs straining around the bulk of him. To his surprise, and delight, she pulled his head down to hers for a kiss. He kissed her urgently, thrusting his strong, mobile tongue into her mouth as he claimed her entirely.

Moving faster then, he shoved rapidly in and out of her, bouncing her breasts against his chest. Ever faster he moved, struggling again to control the overwhelming feelings that permeated him as he rode her against the tree. His powerful thighs and haunches flexed and relaxed and flexed again as he drove his penis into her with a possessive fervor.

He pulled away and began to pant as he pulled her up and down on him, struggling to slow down and calm down as she cried out once in pain from being driven too hard against the tree behind her. Then he had a whole new struggle as she began to pant and whimper, and he realized she would orgasm soon.

He wanted to wait for her, to orgasm with her, to feel her vaginal canal milk him of all that he had to give. He slowed his strokes, using his massive forearms to lift her, completely unhindered by their clothing or the lopsided weight of her breeches.

At last, after a moment that felt like an exquisite eternity, he felt her begin to orgasm, and let himself follow. He felt her muscles tensing, squeezing, and almost sucking at him in the tight confines of her vaginal canal. He grunted, then growled as he found his release, his penis throbbing in wanton pleasure inside her. His scrotum finally quit twitching, and his penis fell to only twitching intermittently inside of her.

She smiled at him. It was a surprisingly sweet, soft smile. He smiled back, wishing that just once he could smile without it looking more like a pained grimace. But when he smiled, hers grew and she brushed her hand along his jaw line.

"Ferruk," she said softly.

"Yes?"

"I… I didn't know it… I didn't know how sweet it would be," she said.

He lifted her up and let her legs down. "I didn't, either," he told her, "though I'm not surprised."

They stood for a while longer, hugging each other there in the darkness, basking in the feelings they were experiencing in the aftermath of their coupling. After a while, he felt her shiver again, and carefully helped her dress, and then she helped him. They stood together for another few minutes before returning quietly to the camp.

As Nerissa laid down on her bedroll, he told her would be back soon, and went to see Malovici on guard duty. As he walked up behind him, the Forsaken man turned to him and greeted him in a low, quiet voice, "Feelin' better now, man?"

Ferruk grunted, "For the moment, I suppose," was his answer.

"Not going to sleep with her tonight after all that ruckus?" Malovici wanted to know.

"I will," Ferruk said. "I just wanted to breathe a bit first."

"Well," Malovici said, "I don't know how you can, with all that blood on you."

Ferruk winced at the reminder, "I cut her with a tusk," he said, embarrassed.

"Tusks're clean, man," Malovici told him.

"What're you saying?" Ferruk asked.

Malovici's dead golden orbs turned and bored unrelentingly into him without expression. "I'm saying you smell like blood, and your tusks are clean. Did I stutter?"

"So she's on her menses, who cares?" Ferruk said.

"Ain't woman's time blood. You can smell that yourself. Just plain old blood, man," Malovici answered.

"She can't be a virgin, Mal, she's almost 60 years old. Nobody goes without sex for 60 years."

"That's no orc you're messing with there, Ferruk. Elf has to be virgin to marry a man that can elevate her social status. You're seriously telling me you didn't know that?" Malovici was back to stitching some flesh back onto his calf.

"Well, how should I know that?" Ferruk said. "I haven't exactly taken Bizzaro Elf Traditions 101, have I?" He was quiet for a second, "Didn't know you had, either."

"Common knowledge, the whole virgin thing, man," Malovici told him.

"Well, it's not that common, now is it. If it was, I'd know," was the snappish response.

"Don't sweat it, man, pretty likely she's sucked a cock or two. I mean, she is almost 60, you know. So she's probably pretty good at it by now." Malovici lost the needle. Again. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?"

"Lost mah needle. After the first five or six times you sew your fingers back on, starts gettin' easy to drop the needle. Gets hard to thread the damned thing, though." Malovici would have sighed this time, too. The living liked to do that a lot. Instead, he started digging for another needle.

"That's really gross, you do know that, right?" Ferruk said.

"What's a guy sitting there wearing virgin blood got to say to anybody else about gross, man?"

"There's just no way someone gets to be 60 and is still a virgin," Ferruk argued.

"Course dere is," Nantu said, coming up behind them. "She a elfie, boy, she gots ta stay a virgin. On'y way ta move up in da world fer a elfie woman."

"Does everybody know this but me?" Ferruk asked.

"Apparently," Malovici said, trying to thread the needle. "Son of a bitch!" He was pretty sure that one fell into his crotch.

"Is a good match," Nantu said. "She gets ta move up in da Horde society, ya gets da pretty wife and much monies. She's da rich, ya knows."

"What?" Ferruk asked, distracted by Malovici pawing at his crotch. He was starting to wonder if he really did sew… well… you know… _that_… back on, too…

"She gain da social standing with da horde ta be with a Clan Shaman, higher den her rank now cause of her bein' elfie," Nantu said. "An fer you, dere's da fact that da husband gets ta help with spending da monies. Her fam'ly very wealthy."

"Who says I'm gonna marry her?" He almost shrieked it.

"Well, o' course yer gonna marry 'er, ya tooked her virginity. Ya gonna make her live 'er whole life without never gettin' married cause ya wanted a quick toss, mon?" Nantu said, sounding for all the world like she thought she was saying the most reasonable thing in the world. "Don' 'ave ta be a real marriage, jes marry her political like. Dat's how it's done."

"Does she know about this? Do you think she knows I'm a Clan Shaman?" Ferruk asked her, a sudden cold sense of horror gripping him.

"Course she knows, I telled her at da Inn," Nantu said.

Ferruk echoed Malovici, "Son of a bitch."

"Wat?" Nantu asked.

"That little social climbing bitch," he snarled, and clomped swiftly back towards the camp.

"Wait… no… don't… stop…" Malovici said sarcastically, knowing he would totally ignore any attempts to stop him, "her attraction is genuine, and you're about to go fuck it up and be an asshole for the rest of the trip… aren't ya, big guy. Yeah, there ya go, go you."

He actually remembered to sigh that time. He could hear angry voices already from the camp.

Nantu echoed his sigh, "Yep, yer right, Mal, 'e's gonna go fuck it right up."

* * *

Quardis waited patiently for the other man to enter the room. He had his times when he was impatient, but such occasions as this were not among them. This mercenary was particularly formidable, and his services difficult to procure.

"Mr. Ebbtide," Quardis said, "how kind of you to come."

"Speak fast, Del'Narik, I have little time or inclination for idle chatter," the Forsaken man in front of him said, his groaning voice lacking inflection, a flat tonality to it that made the comment menacing.

"I've a job for you. I've sent one of my best mercenaries already to do it, and he seems to have failed. In that he's dead, and I do not have what I paid him for in my possession, that is. He has conveniently located the target, however." Quardis pulled the map towards him and beckoned the assassin over towards him.

"So far as last reports show, they were here," he stabbed the lift of Vengeance Landing with the tip of his ornamental dagger, "and they're heading to Crystalsong Forest."

"What is it that you want specifically?" the Forsaken asked, his voice still expressionless, making it even difficult to recognize the question as such for a moment.

"I want her alive, and I don't care what happens to the rest. I don't even know how many there are," Quardis said.

"Living quarry is more difficult than dead," Valorin Ebbtide said.

"Yes," Quardis said. "She's also far, far more lucrative alive than dead. I've told you my offer. Is it acceptable?"

"It is acceptable," Valorin said. He accepted the bag of gold Quardis gave him as a down payment. "You will not hear from me again until delivery. Do not contact me."

Quardis nodded. "I understand completely."

* * *

Most elf men were difficult to sway with sex. It was an abundant commodity, easy for them to get. Rare was the elf woman who possessed such qualities that made her rise above the plethora of women with whom she had to contend. Unfortunately for her, Chalisse was not one of those rare women. Thus, using sex to purchase favors worked in only limited circumstances.

Someone such as Darius, for example, who fancied himself in love with her, and who was useful for odd jobs and use as a carrier pigeon. But in general, her beauty was extraordinary if one was human, but it was average if one were an elf. Her long blond hair and soft features, the busty curve of her décolletage, were all quite average for Sin'Dorei women.

Chalisse pulled her gnomish army knife out of her purse, and slid the sharp cutting edge into position. Reaching down to her skirt, she raised the side split on it up about four inches. Then she made a delicate cut right down between her breasts, allowing the already skimpy dress to border on obscene.

Surveying the result to the best of her ability, she decided that it was excellent. The rabble of hoi polloi on the other side of the door she was about to sweep open were not elves. Therefore, her beauty would easily sway them.

Pushing dramatically on the door, she paused for a moment, displaying her curly blond hair as it cascaded down to caress at her cleavage, where her nipples attempted to set themselves free from their confinement by hardening noticeably. She slowly strutted down the steps on the fancy sandals she had purchased specifically for the purpose—she'd heard humans liked that sort of thing.

Whistles and catcalls greeted her, another strange human custom. But of course, these were rough humans, mingled with uncaring orcs, bored trolls, and even a few goblins. The Alliance had rejected these humans, now they were the dregs of society, serving whomever would pay them so they could eat.

Perfect for her needs.

She was going to take a different tack than Quardis was taking. He was hiring elite mercenaries. Chalisse was simply going to overwhelm Ferruk and Nerissa with riffraff. Eventually, if she could throw enough cheap, useless, and (dare she say) stinking bodies at them, they would be overrun.

So she stepped up to the stage, making sure that at least a few of them got a good look up her skirt, and waved for quiet. The rough crowd finally calmed, and she beamed at them.

"I have a proposition for you all," she told them. Catcalls and excited yelling greeted her comment, and she was forced to wait again while they subsided.

"A monetary proposition in which I pay you to locate and… dispatch… someone. As it seems that you find my person to be… of interest to you," she continued, "I would like to point out that you will be pursuing a female, upon whom you would be allowed to sate any… needs… which you might have."

More whistles and yelling. "She is, actually, even lovelier than myself, and is also a virgin. As I understand it, this might have a positive impact upon your decision to accept this assignment." There was laughter among the humans.

One of the goblins shouted, "How much gold are ye givin' us, lady?"

"Yeah!" the chorus of agreement rose from orcs and trolls and the other goblins.

"Ah," she said, "I am prepared to be quite generous, actually. I will pay 15 gold per person who returns," she replied. "Although, proof of her death is required, and nothing will be paid to anyone without it."

When it was all said and done, everyone in the room chose to head out on the mission. The rough group finally decided on a leader, a goblin named Jebbik, and he gave them each a direction to go in order to arrive at the right place at the right time to avoid alerting local authorities. When they had all left, he turned to Chalisse, "Don't double-cross us. If you do, the goblins will hunt you down and destroy you and everything you care about."

She batted her eyes at him, "Why, I would never dream of such a thing!" she replied.

"Sure you wouldn't, lady. I'm no stupid human, blinded by a pair of tits. I want gold, and I fucking mean it," he snapped at her, and then left.

All in all, Chalisse thought it had gone quite well. Who's afraid of a stupid goblin, anyway?


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

She was drifting in the early throes of sleep when his voice found her, "So when were you going to tell me that you're a virgin?" Ferruk's voice was enraged, and she rolled over to look up at him in surprise.

"I thought you knew. I'm an heiress, it's common knowledge that I have to be a virgin," she told him, confusion on her face and in her voice.

Mockingly, Ferruk parroted in a snide imitation of her voice, "I'm an heiress, it's common knowledge. Everybody in the world should have full knowledge and understanding of how my culture works because I'm so special!"

His voice went back to (angry) normal, and he continued, "Now I'm supposed to marry you so you can be important in the Horde and show all your little elf friends how you've managed to capture a high ranking orc, isn't that right?"

She stood up, facing him now. "Why Ferruk, that's the sweetest proposal I could possibly imagine, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no."

"Bullshit, I know you're trying to trap me into marrying you, making me take your virginity and then crying about how now you can never get married," he snarled.

"Well, first off, I don't remember shedding even one tear over no longer being able to get married," she told him, crossing her arms. "Further, Shantille is an outcast among my people because she married an orc. Maybe you think that that's only because she didn't marry your exalted self, huh? You're so much better than Groll that you, in your illustrious position of power and authority, can overcome centuries of my people's prejudice?"

"So now I'm good enough to fuck, but not good enough to marry, is that the deal?" His scowl managed, by some accomplishment of facial contortion on his part, to deepen even further.

"No, actually. Now that you're back to being a complete fucking asshole, you're not good enough to marry or to fuck," she told him, and then sat down and started to get back into her bedroll. "If you're done now, the rest of us want to get some sleep."

"So you were just using me, then, just like I thought," he growled.

"You were just using me, too, Ferruk, we were just using each other. You didn't expect to marry me any more than I expected you to marry me," she said with a tired sigh. "We both wanted to feel good. And I did. Until now."

"Well, maybe I did," he said, "so now what do you have to say?"

"I say you're crazy. When you thought I wanted to marry you, you were furious. Now I say no I won't marry you, and you're still furious. How about you come talk to me again when you make up your fucking mind what you want and we can at least talk like intelligent people."

"I know what I want," he yelled.

"Well, then, what do you want?" she said reasonably.

"What if I said I did want you to marry me?" he replied.

"I already answered that. Not going to happen."

"Why not? Something wrong with me?" he growled.

"We barely know each other. Don't you think people should at least know each other before they do that?" she laid down on her bedroll and looked up at the stars. What a terrifically confounding man he was!

"We know each other well enough," he said defensively.

"Really?" she looked at him again, staring up into his eyes as he towered over her. "You don't even know whether or not I'm trying to trap you into a status marriage, but you're going to say that you know me? The fact that you could even make that accusation shows that you don't know me at all."

He sat down heavily beside her, from standing to sitting in a single falling motion. "I knew," he said.

"I would really like to get some sleep," she told him coldly and rolled onto her side away from him.

"Okay," he agreed, and started to lie down beside her.

"Alone," she said flatly.

He sighed and stood up, "We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Whatever."

He clomped away from her, and Nerissa shut her eyes. What the hell just happened?

Ferruk left her lying there, walking back out into the woods, trying to sort out his confusion. He hadn't thought about marrying her before Nantu's comment, but now the idea almost obsessed him. She'd given up the opportunity to marry any other man, to be with him. He knew she knew what she was doing.

Because sure, he might not know her completely, but he knew some things about her. She calculated risks and made decisions based on that. For all that she was spoiled, she wasn't impulsive, and she was spoiled by what she'd been taught, not by any basic nature or character flaw.

So why would she give up a lifetime of ever getting married for him, and then throw it away by saying no to him?

"Wut was ya doin?" Nantu asked, her voice sharp and lashing.

"I had to talk to her," he snarled defensively.

"That weren't talking, that were nastiness," she said, "ya ever dealed with a woman, ever? Ya actin' like a dumb teenager."

"I've dealt with women plenty," he said. "I know what to expect."

"Really? Coulda fooled me, Fe'ruk, cause ya go up ta her right aftah ya tosses her, an' ya accuse 'er of tryin' ta trap ya?" She made a tsking sound, and then continued, "That was cruel. Ya gonna be lucky if she evah forgives ya."

Ferruk sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "Well, how was I supposed to find out if she was trying to trap me or not?"

"Ya really thought that? Ya really believed that? Ya honest'y tink she wants ta trap ya?" Nantu said chidingly.

Ferruk looked back at her form lying quiescent on her bedroll. "You said it would be a good marriage for her," he said accusingly.

"O' course it would be a good marriage fer her," Nantu said, "cause she don't fit da elfie way of life, Fe'ruk. Ya think she gonna be happy livin' da rest of her life in da Silvermoon, nevah again to see da battles or da fresh air of da wilds? Do ya think dat she gonna be happy with da way that da elfies live their lives? She comes ta know what freedom be like, sometink dat most elfies her social rank won't never know. And ya think dat she jus gonna run back an' start livin' that life again?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "It's only been a few days," he said, "it's not like she's even seen what it's really like."

"Don't matter none, Fe'ruk. She done unnerstood dat she kin live free. Dat she kin makes her own choices. Every'ting changed fer her already. Sometimes, don't take a lifetime ta change, Fe'ruk. Like yerself, you been one of da best mans I know. But now, you jus an asshole, like she done said many times." And Nantu walked away, her skirts swaying and waving in the wind beneath the heavy cloak.

A few feet away, she turned around and said, "I wunner, Fe'ruk. Has ya asked yerself what's da 'onorable thing ta do?" She didn't wait for an answer, just turned away and went back to camp.

No, he hadn't. What _was_ the honorable thing to do? There really wasn't any official policy on it. Nothing in the Teachings. Sex with elves wasn't really covered. Sex with someone who would never be able to get married again after having sex with you wasn't covered, either. Indeed, the whole thing was pretty far out of his people's typical experiences.

Yet, the truth of the matter was that he was a Shaman, and it was his duty to solve situations like this—to figure out what the honorable thing was in situations not within the established bonds of the Teachings. He immediately thought that the right thing was to force her to marry him. On the heels of that was the sure and certain knowledge that he thought that because… he wanted that.

He tried to detach from the situation, to see it from someone else's point of view, as if someone had come to him with the issue instead of it being his own. At long last, the conclusion could be one thing, and one thing only. He had to find out what she wanted, before he could make any other decisions. If she truly didn't want to marry him, then accepting that was the honorable thing to do.

His gut twisted at the thought. What it meant was, when the day finally came, he'd have to let her go. He'd have to set her free. He'd have to watch her walk away. The realization was painful, sharp, and enervating. He slumped against a tree.

She'd already answered him. She didn't want to marry him. She'd just been using him to feel good. And from what Nantu said, maybe for more than that. Maybe she had used him to free herself from her social requirements. Now she could live whatever life she wished, albeit as somewhat of an outcast. She was no longer bound to marry and live as the Mistress of her house.

In a single act, she had set herself free from her social dynamics.

He sat down heavily on the ground, gulping for air. It wasn't personal, it had never been personal. She'd been using him, but not for what he thought. She even admitted it freely.

He tried to breathe against the pain the thought brought him. He looked up at the night sky, and once it would have comforted him in its grandiose beauty. The leaves of the trees as they swayed above him gave him a sort of comfort for his mind, but left his heart's hurt untouched.

Life, he thought as he looked out on the natural beauty around him, isn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to hurt so badly.

Whitecrow walked over and sat down beside Nerissa, much as Ferruk had done a brief few moments before. The ongoing drama between the two was depriving the others of sleep, leaving only Malovici unaffected—and he only because sleep was long since abandoned by the Forsaken.

"Want to talk about it?" the tauren asked her, rubbing absently at one of his horns.

"I don't know," she said, "I'm not even sure what just happened."

Whitecrow laughed. "Oh, that's easy. Ferruk had an orc moment."

To his pleasure, she giggled at him. "Is that all?" Then she sobered, "He was pretty hateful and cruel."

"Not really. I mean, he was rude, sure. But he did ask you, however hap-hazardly, to marry him. Most orcs don't get married, really. They kind of just enjoy sexual encounters, plan out children and have them for family reasons… and that's about the story of their lives from that aspect.

"When orcs marry, they marry for life. You don't find orcs that are divorced, or widowed and then remarry. It's a very, very serious proposition for them. As an elf, you have institutions such as divorce, but orc society doesn't even have a word for it. The only reason why there's a word for it in orcish at all is because of other races.

"And in point of fact, the word for divorce in orcish is actually the human word for it." Whitecrow felt that understanding the differences might help her to recognize the seriousness of the confrontation she'd just had with Ferruk.

"So what I'm trying to tell you, Nerissa, is that when he thought you might be trying to use him for social climbing by marrying him, he took it pretty seriously. There's really no social comparison to the seriousness of the act of abusing marriage for personal gain if one person loves the other, among orcs. It's not just dishonorable; it's a family stain. If any orc did such a thing, their own family would hunt them down and butcher them as cruelly and painfully as possible."

"Why are you telling me this, Whitecrow? I don't want to marry him, I only just found out what it's like to be able to be at least somewhat my own person." She rolled onto her back, looking up at the stars above her. "I just came to realize that I won't live forever. A long time, maybe, but not forever. A few thousand years suddenly seems like such a small amount of time."

She looked at Whitecrow again, and he felt a sense of sorrow as the fire touched her with a golden glow. She seemed so young to him right in that moment, so innocent and confused. She continued, unaware of his thoughts, "I want to live my life this way. I just realized that I'm good at this. I'm good at fighting. I like riding now that I know how to do it properly.

"I even like spending time with you guys. It's all so simple and uncomplicated. Well, except Ferruk. I'm pretty sure he could put about any elf to shame with his bizarre, complex behavior." She sighed, and in a gesture surprisingly akin to the one Whitecrow was so used to seeing Ferruk do, she rubbed her palm across her face as if to chase the confusion away with a gesture. "I want that simplicity. I want to make choices. I want to ride, to look at the land, to have people that I could almost believe are really friends around me."

Whitecrow was flattered by her statement, by her recognition of at least him as a friend. He was fairly sure that Nantu also counted her as a friend already. And although she was a singularly annoying friend, prideful, arrogant, and still rather self-indulgent… she at least showed that she was trying and she wanted to be a good friend.

"So you did use him just to end your virginity so that you couldn't be forced into an unwanted marriage?" he asked.

"Oh, Deities no," she laughed. "That's absurd. Jin was here, if I just wanted to get rid of my virginity, I could have just asked him. He would have been thrilled beyond words to get that opportunity."

"Why'd you tell him that you were just using him, then?" Whitecrow asked, running his hand down his muzzle.

"Why not? He accused me of just baiting a trap with my body. Of course, I've been taught how to do that, and if I'd wanted to, I certainly could have. He's only what, 25—"

"28," Whitecrow corrected her.

"Well, okay, so he's only 28. I think a lot of people see my face, and they think I'm younger by far than I really am," she went on, while Whitecrow winced from having thought exactly that a few minutes prior.

"You've been really sheltered," Whitecrow said. "That generally creates a certain naivety."

"Yes, it does, I recognize that. But naivety about men, about seduction? No, my friend. My mother has taught me very, very well how to use my body to get what I want without ever having to complete the promise. She has taught me how to stand on the edge of sexuality and dance there indefinitely. She has taught me a great deal about how men think and what men expect and want. What kind of men to use, what kind to avoid, and how to do so." Her face looked sad, but certain.

"But she didn't teach you about love, did she?" He knew he had correctly discerned the heart of the matter when she stared bleakly into the fire and said nothing.

"Love is not for us, Whitecrow. We're elves, and love is a weakness that preys on the mind like an addiction. In the past, the elves loved, but the end results were always tragic. Death, loss, regret, revenge… there seems to be no shortage of people who suffer from love. There are so few who thrive in love that they are nearly nonexistent." Her face was still sad, and rather drawn.

He reached out and took her hand in his. "Love isn't about the way it ends, Nerissa. That's why your people shun it, because of how it ends. It seems very strange that a people so long lived would fail to understand that love's about the journey, not about the end—"

His words were cut off as he was actually lifted bodily to his feet, and shoved several feet by one very, very angry orc.

"What're you doing?" Ferruk snarled at Whitecrow.

Whitecrow, finally fed up with his friend's behavior, reached up between Ferruk's hands and forcibly knocked them off of his breastplate. "I'm talking to my friend," he snapped.

"Your friend? Just a friend, holding hands and looking at each other all lovey like that?" Ferruk was still snarling, stepping forwards towards Whitecrow.

Nerissa stood up and stepped towards them, but Nantu caught her and pulled her back. She said softly, "Nothin' you can or should do now, Nerissa, dis 'tween dem two now. Ferruk done pushed too hard fer no reason, an' Whitecrow gots da right ta make him answer fer dat."

Nerissa subsided, stepping away from the two men. It would have been clear to either of them that she resented the whole episode, had either looked at her. But they were both caught up in the anger seething beneath the surface.

"You've been unbearable since she arrived. You know perfectly well that I have no interest in her. Your petty jealousy is ridiculous on both counts, hers and mine," Whitecrow said, hoping that he could talk sense into the shaman before the inevitable fight broke out between them.

"I don't care if you've been celibate for years. That doesn't mean that you intend to stay that way," Ferruk growled, and a totem dropped to the ground, followed by another and another, four in total. "You want her, but you have to go through me."

"What about her feelings? They don't matter at all?" Whitecrow asked.

"This is about our friendship. You don't move in on someone that you know your friend cares for," Ferruk yelled. "It's you betraying my friendship, not her!"

"Malovici's right, you're acting like a bitch in heat," Whitecrow said. He was finally starting to get really really angry with Ferruk. "I am her friend, nothing more. I have no interest in her beyond that."

"You're lying, you like elves, and we all know it!"

"You're wrong," Whitecrow said, "I only love one certain elf, and she's not a blood elf!"

"She's a whore," Ferruk snarled, forgetting himself in his rage at what he saw as his friend's betrayal.

Whitecrow's axe and shield sprang into his hands. Steam literally began to rise from him as sweat broke through his fur. "You take that back, you fucker," he growled. He saw red as Ferruk shook his head.

Whitecrow lost the control he'd retained over his emotions, and roared, the shock of his rage slapping Ferruk with physical intensity. The massive axe bit into Ferruk's enchanted chain armor, drawing blood on the first strike. As Whitecrow smelled the coppery tinge of blood, he threw his head back and felt the fury rise in him.

He forgot that this was his friend. He forgot that they'd been traveling together for years. He forgot everything but the words spoken, which should never have been said, 'she's a whore.'

His rage grew, and the axe flew through the air with a singing 'whoosh,' only to be ducked by Ferruk. The orc moved back, surprised at the vehemence of the tauren's attack. Whitecrow stalked forward, his hooves reverberating against the hard ground. He again swung the axe, and this time it sliced across the front of Ferruk's mail tunic, knocking Ferruk's breath from his chest, "You," Whitecrow grunted, "take," and the shield slapped Ferruk's mace away like it was nothing, "that," a step forward, and the shield crushed into Ferruk's face, "back!"

Ferruk grunted, tasting blood. He snarled and pushed forwards, looping a single blow under Whitecrow's arm, landing it in the vulnerable joint at the armpit. Whitecrow barely paused, and his axe swung through the air again. Although Ferruk managed to duck, it sliced his ear in half. Blood rushed from the wound, exiting his body in a sharp arch like a sparkling red firecracker.

Whitecrow laughed as he saw the cut in Ferruk's ear. He wanted to hurt this man for his callous words; he wanted to hurt him for his false claims. He no longer cared that it was his friend. The rampaging bull replaced the calm and placid bovine. Gone was the civility of tauren life, the thin veneer that helped all tauren to control the wild beast that lived inside.

The beast that won the battle for control whenever the tauren were threatened. And whether that threat was friend or foe mattered not at all to this rising tide of rage inside Whitecrow. He stunned Ferruk again, and landed another blow, this time nicking Ferruk on the nose as his helm bent beneath the massive axe.

Blood flew again, a tiny blossoming arc of red droplets, slurped up by the breeze like a thirsty sailor with a splash of booze. Whitecrow laughed again as the lust and rage he felt took in the beauty of the blood it craved.

Ferruk landed several blows of his own, finally turning to his magic as his melee proved to be unsuccessful in bringing any significant harm to his foe. A brilliant arc of lightning struck Whitecrow as Ferruk muttered the incantation. It lit up the night, wreathing Whitecrow in a brilliant white aura for an instant.

Whitecrow merely grunted as the painful blast assailed him. Ferruk, irritated, called on fire then. Except that it refused to come… the fire was silent and would not answer his call. One by one, Ferruk called to the elements. Each failed him. Even the lightning would not return.

Whitecrow's axe bit into him again. Then again. Now blood ran freely down his chest, and he was limping badly. He pulled out a new totem, and it dropped the ground, forlorn without its glow of power. It did nothing, lying there, inert and unresponsive. He reached for a Heal, and was met by silence.

Another powerful blow from Whitecrow and Ferruk was pushed back by the massive shield the other man held, staggering. Stars flickered in front of his eyes, and he staggered.

At last, defeated both by the increasing pain as more and more blows struck him, and by the departure of the blessing of the Elements, Ferruk sank to one knee. "I yield, I yield!" he cried.

It seemed that Whitecrow was too far gone in his rage and didn't care. The heavy axe hit Ferruk again, slamming into his helm with enough force to make the helm ring with a reverberating and sharp 'clang!' Ferruk fell over, catching himself with one arm. Whitecrow's arms lifted as he dropped the shield and prepared for a finishing blow with his axe.

"Take it," Whitecrow snarled, the whites around his liquid brown eyes standing stark against his black fur, "back!" He panted and trembled, looking for all the world like he wanted Ferruk to refuse to do so, that the axe might find its way free to taste his blood a final time.

"I'm sorry, Whitecrow, I should have never said that. There's no excuse for ever saying that," Ferruk remained on his knee, barely holding himself up.

Whitecrow roared again, a bestial, tormented sound, and lowered the axe slowly. Finally, he threw it at Ferruk's feet, as if to say, 'You did this,' about the blood on it.

Nantu picked up the top tip of Ferruk's left ear and handed it to him. "Ho'd it up so's I can mend it," she told him. Ferruk took it and threw it into the fire.

"Heal it the way it is," he grunted. "It will remind me of who my real friends are for the rest of my life."

Nantu Healed him, and then Whitecrow, who now sat by the fire, as if to warm his hooves. Nerissa ignored Ferruk completely and went immediately to Whitecrow. "Are you okay?" He nodded. She sighed and squeezed his hand, "I'm so sorry."

He covered her hand with his other one, "Not your fault, Nerissa. This is Ferruk's fault to bear."

Nerissa nodded and sighed. "Still…" she said, and Whitecrow knew what she meant. However directly or indirectly, it had been about her, which made her feel somehow responsible.

"Your lady?" she asked, as if afraid to probe too deeply about it.

He shook his head as she sat down to listen to him talk, "It's nothing, really. Your typical impossible, unrequited love."

"That makes you an odd one to talk to me about love then, I think," Nerissa said, then realized her rudeness and started to apologize.

Whitecrow held up his hand to quiet her, and said only, "It makes me infinitely qualified, Nerissa. For I know the terrible pain that love can bring, yet I know the joy of it, too. And I know for certain that the joy of it makes every instant of the pain exquisitely bearable." He turned his soft, warm, sad eyes on her. "Don't let a minute go to waste."

She just looked at him, not sure what to say. She thought about his words for some time, as she wrapped her arms around her knees and looked into the fire.

A few minutes later, Ferruk joined them. He was much subdued as he sat down beside Whitecrow. "I'm sorry, old friend. I know you're right, I've not been treating anyone well. Of all people, I should know that you'd be the last to…"

Whitecrow nodded without speaking, letting Ferruk continue as Nerissa got up and walked away. "Please forgive me, I don't know what got into me that I would say such a terrible thing."

Ferruk sat in miserable silence as Whitecrow continued to watch the fire. Ferruk began to feel that he had lost his friend until Whitecrow finally spoke, "Why don't you make amends for it? That would really mean something, more than mere words."

Ferruk frowned, "What do you want from me?"

"Start treating her with respect. Like she's a person, not a possession or a child, but a real, bona fide, dyed in the wool person." Whitecrow's eyes met Ferruk's and Ferruk actually felt his face begin to burn with embarrassed shame.

"I'll do the best I can," he told Whitecrow.

Whitecrow nodded, "As long as that's a hell of a lot better than you're doing now," he told Ferruk grimly. "Because you just don't seem to get it. You're never going to woo her the way you're treating her."

Ferruk started to say that he didn't want to woo her, but Whitecrow shook his head, a look of disappointment crossing his face. Ferruk sighed and returned to looking into the fire. "Ferruk, being honest with yourself would be a good start, then follow that up with being honest with the rest of us. By that time, maybe you can be honest with her, too."

Ferruk looked back to where she'd moved her bedroll. She and Nantu had started a second fire, as if to get away from him. He cringed at the thought, and acknowledged that it was almost certainly the reality of the situation. Was he in love with her? Suddenly, he wondered that he even needed to ask himself that question.

Of course he was. He was in love and dangerously jealous and possessive. This was why his connection to the Elements was gone. He had abused them, and he still felt that terrible possessiveness. Until he could love her and let her be free, too, they would never answer his call.

The problem was, he had no idea how to go about that.

* * *

Jebbik the goblin bowed before Prince Veebex. "You called for me, my prince?"

Veebex nodded, "I understand that you've come under agreement with a certain elf by the name of Chalisse Mequa Trasamme?"

Jebbik bowed again, "Yes, my prince, I have."

"Did she request a surety, Jebbik?"

"No, my prince, she did not," Jebbik told the powerful Trade Prince.

"Excellent. We have come under a new agreement then. The new agreement requires that she be alive. The new buyer has specified nothing beyond 'alive,' and is paying three times the price. He has requested a surety, so of course, we shall be required to deliver or repay the down payment.

"I assume that you will not fail me in this," Trade Prince Veebex said.

"We will deliver her within hours of locating her, my prince," Jebbik said before his small green legs rushed him out of the room and on his way towards Howling Fjord, where a most excellent prize awaited him.

He rubbed his hands together delightedly when he left the room… triple! He could barely keep the glee out of his face as he went to tell his little band of ragtag mercs that their reward had doubled, so long as the quarry were alive and delivered to Veebex instead of Chalisse.

* * *

The next day found the group tense and riding west again. The tension between Ferruk and Whitecrow had eased, but a new and colder distance had arisen between Ferruk and Nerissa. It rapidly became clear to him that she wasn't just riding a distance from him, but was actively avoiding him.

He rode towards her, she rode away. He slowed down, she sped up. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she hadn't been avoiding him so actively, but one thing was for sure… he wanted to do something to repair what he'd destroyed.

He recognized that although she could be difficult, he couldn't pass off his responsibility in the whole thing. She was definitely spoiled, and could be rude and insensitive. He, on the other hand, was supposed to be a leader of his people, and he was acting like an adolescent boy with his first crush.

He remembered the first time he'd dealt with an angry, possessive young orc in the throes of sexual addiction to an orc girl. He'd explained the fact that each person was their own individual self, with the right to choose and select a mate—no matter how much one person might want them to select him (or her).

The poor fellow had been back a couple of weeks later, having gotten himself badly beaten by the woman in question. That had worked well to put him in his place, and he had allowed her the freedom she wanted from that point onwards.

But not Ferruk. No, he had made everything worse, instead. Rather than stop pushing, he'd pushed harder. Instead of trusting his friend, he had attacked him. Instead of… well, instead of any honorable action at all, he'd been every bit the asshole she'd accused him of being.

Now he rode entirely alone. The rest of the group was there, but they had all withdrawn from him. The elements had left him. And his behavior had been bad enough to have him named outcast by his clan, should anyone learn of it. To do the honorable thing, he should simply accept his outcast status.

So that was what he decided to do. If he couldn't control his behavior, then he could recognize the dishonor he'd brought to himself and willingly give up his status and his standing in the clan. It was the right thing to do, regardless of anything else. No man should be a shaman, or a clan's spiritual advisor when he couldn't even control his own base impulses.

He could never ask another to take his advice when he was a complete failure in his own life and emotions.

It was devastating to him, and he felt the crushing weight of the decision on his soul. All of his life, he'd aspired to be a shaman. All of his life, he had aspired to attain oneness with the elements. As a child, he'd spent hours daydreaming of the people he'd teach, the lives he would shape, the honor and the glory of living a spiritually attained life.

He had been friends with Whitecrow for all of his adult life, and longer. He'd sacrificed much for his friend, for his training, for the life he'd chosen.

And in the space of just a few days, he'd ruined it all. The gravity, the misery, of what he'd done finally sank into him. It went well beyond simply fighting with a friend or yelling at a woman. The elements had abandoned him because he had sacrificed his spiritual life for a chance to control and constrain another person.

There was no help for it, either. Nothing he could do about it at all. And here he was, stuck in a terrible mess. He could no longer protect Nerissa. The sick, sad truth twisted in him. He was not fit as a shaman. He was not fit as a man. He was not fit as a spiritual advisor to even the demons. And he was not fit as a guardian to the woman that he now realized he loved.

The day wore on as he suffered the internal diatribe that chastised him for his mistakes, for his failings, for his terrible dishonor.

He would have to tell them, and he would have to leave. That's what he would do that evening when they camped. He would tell them and then he would leave; he would let them find their way without the dangerous burden of a useless, broken-down husk of a former shaman.

His life, his dreams… both were done. Shattered into a million pieces of brittle, sharp mirror that taunted him with the image of a coward; a failure; a half-man, half-beast destroyer.

Once, he had spoken to others of honor and glory. Now, he had no right to speak to anyone of it.


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

Nerissa avoided Ferruk actively, but something kept dragging at the back of her mind. Outside of avoiding him, her thoughts were not for Ferruk, but for a strange sense of malevolence, a malignant, creeping evil that came from in front of them. They were riding straight towards it, and it was making her more and more agitated.

It was Malovici that she kept unconsciously gravitating towards. Though she did spend some part of the day chatting with Whitecrow, and obtained some feminine items from Nantu, who happened to be an alchemist (and of course, carried her own), she kept finding herself riding beside Malovici.

Neither of them spoke for the longest time, and she would drift away after some time. But there she was, back beside Malovici. Indeed, she was riding so close to him that she was bumping against his leg.

"What's the matter with you, girl? You want to just ride in my lap, eh?" he finally asked her.

She shook her head and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

Malovici looked at her with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Stop," he said, his voice carrying strongly to the others.

He sat looking at her quietly as the others came back to them.

"What's up?" Whitecrow asked.

Malovici shrugged, "I don't know. Ask the girl. Go ahead, girl, tell us what's bothering you."

"I…" she started, and then stopped. "It's nothing, it's silly," she finally said.

"Tha' ain't good 'nuff, gurlie," Nantu said. "Ya gots da fey look about ya. Ya gonna has ta tell us."

"It's just… I've had this feeling all day, and it's only getting stronger," she said lamely. "I'm sure it's just my over-active imagination, and my inexperience in genuine battle. I didn't mean to hold us up." Her gelding skittered nervously, betraying her tension.

"What feelin?" Nantu probed.

"Just… well. Just that there's a dark cloud of danger hovering over the Keep," she said. "More than normal, more than Keleseth, more than… I don't know. It all seems so foolish."

Nantu and Malovici exchanged a significant look, and Nantu said grimly, "She lookin' fey fer sure." Malovici nodded.

Whitecrow looked between the two of them, "What?" Both shook their heads.

Nerissa, in the meantime, hoped for a random earthquake to swallow her up for her fanciful thinking. She sighed and tried to figure out a way to get herself out of this predicament. She ignored what the others were saying while she tried to sort out how to get them moving again and take the focus off of herself.

"So, what shall we do about it? We don't have a choice of whether or not to go forward," Malovici said.

"Dunno what it's 'bout," Nantu said, "so we ain't able ta prepare, neither."

"Somebody wanna let me in on the secret?" Whitecrow grumbled irritably.

"She looks fey," Malovici said. "We're thinking she's having a genuine premonition."

"She looks fine to me," Whitecrow said.

"Look again," came Nantu's reply.

Whitecrow stepped closer to Nerissa, and obeyed. This time, as he looked at her, trying to figure out what exactly they meant, he saw a sort of shadow on her face, though the sun shone on it as brightly as a moment before. He blanched and pulled away, "What the hell is that?"

Nerissa was finding it hard to bring her mind to focus on the conversation at hand, as if it were taking place far away from her. She could hear and see, as through a tunnel. Her vision narrowed further and they seemed to become a pinprick of distant light. She swayed in the saddle, and tried to speak.

She panicked, paralyzed and unable to make her body respond. The three were speaking to each other, Ferruk waiting a ways away in silence. None of them heard her as she tried to squeak out a plea for help.

A moment later, Ferruk rode towards the group, the other three ignoring Nerissa as they discussed the merits of moving on or staying. Nerissa's swaying, and the far-away look on her face made him nervous. He hesitated to draw near the group, particularly to her, but he was drawn by the pale and unaware look of her face.

Just as he drew close, she began to topple. In a leap, he was off of his worg, grunting as she fell into his arms. She had fainted dead away while the group argued around her.

The dark, fey shadow had vanished, and she lay silent and passive in his arms. Whitecrow quickly pulled her bedroll off of her mount and threw it down a few feet from the road. Ferruk laid her gently on it, and the four of them stood staring at her in stark concern. Malovici squatted down and pulled an eyelid up.

"She'll be fine. Let her sleep it off." He slunk off towards the forest's edge and started checking to make sure all of his body parts were still firmly attached.

The rest set about eating. If they were stopped anyway, they just as well make use of the time.

Ferruk sat down beside Nerissa, a deep part of him still overflowing with a need to protect her and to be near her. He couldn't help but look at her as she lay unconscious. She was, in his opinion, very beautiful. In sleep, she was like an angel; her face softened even further, her red hair forming a halo around her, and the gold of her skin shimmering in the sunlight.

He smoothed the hair back from her face, his large fingers easily capturing a wisp of it and moving it aside. A slow aching burn grew in him as he touched her. How he would miss her! Such a short period of time he'd known her, and she seemed a natural part of his life. He tried to remember what he used to think about instead of her, and failed.

Inherently, because he understood the way that orcs were, he knew that he could never go back. He'd always love her. He'd die remembering her, thinking of her, wondering what that flower was that she smelled like. His feelings were confusing, frightening, and impossibly strong.

As he sat watching her, he saw her lips start to move. He leaned forward, thinking she was trying to speak.

"What is it?" Malovici inquired as he loped towards them.

"Looks like she's trying to talk," Ferruk told him.

Nantu and Whitecrow followed on the heels of Malovici, and Nerissa's voice got slowly louder and stronger.

"Death stalks even now, seeking what it will find.

The lost one is restored, the treasures reunited.

What was last loved is lost to all.

A life restored approaches immortality.

Blue takes white, and thus white is brought low.

Guard what is precious, diligence is its own reward."

She repeated it three times, and then fell back to sleep. Whitecrow wrote it down, and then Malovici woke her up with a shake to the shoulder. She gasped to wakefulness as if startled. "Did I oversleep?" she asked.

"Something like that," Malovici said dryly. "Let's get going."

Nerissa looked around, "Where are we? What happened?"

"We'll tell yas on da way," Nantu said. They rode on through the afternoon; Nantu explaining the morning's experience for Nerissa in her heavily accented orcish.

"Do you know what any of it means?" Whitecrow asked her when Nantu was done.

"No," Nerissa said, her face puzzled and slightly haggard, "that has never happened to me before. I'm not too sure I liked it."

Whitecrow's chuckle rippled through the air, 'heh heh heh,' then he said, "I can't say as I blame you much there."

But Ferruk knew what the last line meant. It was speaking to him, telling him to follow them and guard Nerissa. He would follow from afar so that they could move on in peace without him, but if he found anyone stalking them, he would kill them. Or die trying, as he was now vulnerable himself, of course.

It didn't matter. Diligence was, indeed, its own reward.

The group traveled onwards, with Ferruk still avoiding the rest of the party. He no longer made any overtures towards Nerissa at all, lost in his own pain. They chattered nervously about the prophecy, Nerissa as confused as the rest of them.

_What good is a prophecy that you can't even understand?_ Ferruk wondered. _Why bother to give us a prophecy when it is meaningless to us and we can't stop it, anyway?_

He sighed and shifted in his saddle, waiting eagerly and yet with near terror for nighttime. He wanted to get it done and over with, he wanted to get on with it… he wanted to stay with them forever. He realized as well, as the hours passed, that he couldn't tell them. He couldn't admit that the elements had left him entirely.

He couldn't shame himself any further before the people whose good opinion he valued the most in all the world. He would leave, but he wouldn't tell them. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't face them if they knew the true depth of his dishonor. He couldn't live with the knowledge that they were aware of what he'd done, what he'd lost, what he'd thrown away—beyond what they already knew.

At long last, the evening dragged to a close. It seemed both interminable, and yet also fleeting. The last moments with his dear friends. The final hours seeing their faces, hearing their voices, and being part of their inner circle. He would see them only from afar from now on. It was fitting that it be that way, for it was better than he deserved, yet it would also torture him—which he also deserved.

Darkness fell, and Ferruk watched carefully to see where Malovici went. The Forsaken man crept into the woods to keep watch, and Ferruk padded into the woods in the opposite direction. He found a tree with a high crotch and climbed it, quite easily for a man of his mass. He could see the campfire from here, and so he would be able to keep an eye out if anything should happen there.

He finally fell into a fitful sleep, waking before dawn and moving further away, on the off chance that they searched for him. He thought it unlikely, but not entirely impossible. He had alienated every one of them, so he was fairly sure that they wouldn't search at all.

* * *

"Do ya think she'll be as hot as that bitch what hired us?" the replacing sentry asked.

"Nah," the other man answered. "No way anyone can be as hot as that blond bitch. But this Nerissa don't need to be nowhere near as hot as her to be good enough to fuck."

The first laughed in agreement and made a grossly suggestive thrust with his hips, cupping his crotch with his hand. "Hell yeah, I can't fucking wait, it's been months!"

The two finished their discussion and the sentry whose turn it was to sleep left towards the large encampment. Valorin watched him go from the stealthy position he'd taken at the top of a tree. He'd intended to simply slip on past them, trying to follow the road without actually being on the road.

But the name of his target stopped him. It seemed that either his patron, or someone else, had hired a large number of people to acquire the same target as he. This just wouldn't do. He wanted his prize, and some dirty, unwashed human's lust was insignificant in the face of getting that prize.

Thus, he slowly crept down the tree, managing to keep a powerful grip on it, despite the decay of his body. Slowly, he made his way behind the sentry, and then crept close to him. First, a stab in the back of the neck with an odd two-pronged dagger paralyzed the man, then a single, sudden slice across the front of his neck, and the man slumped, not even able to gurgle for breath. Valorin Ebbtide stood impassively over the dying man, watching him as blood flowed from the wound to pool on the frozen ground.

When the man finally stared sightlessly at him, Valorin's glowing orbs turned towards the encampment, where he could sense body heat, the stench of those who didn't bathe, and a fire pit that had cooled to glowing coals and which had not been restarted into a blazing fire.

This sign of laziness was quite beneficial to his intent. Slinking low, he stalked into the encampment. One by one, bedroll to bedroll, he started slowly slicing throats or puncturing kidneys to paralyze his victims. After which, he would slit their jugular veins and allow their lives to pour out into the ground beneath them. It took him several hours, but at last, he had cleared the camp, except for the single tent. He didn't know what was inside, and had no desire to find out. It could be one person, it could be five. The tent was sizeable, and therefore not of interest to him.

After all, the leader or leaders were useless without their lackeys, at least for a time. More than long enough for him to complete his work and capture his prize, and that was all he cared about. It wasn't personal, it was business.

He turned and melted into the night, moving on in hopes of locating his quarry tonight.

* * *

They searched in pairs for four and a half hours. They could find neither evidence of foul play, nor any evidence of Ferruk at all. It was as if he had never even been there beyond the indentation where his bedroll had been. Even that had faded within a couple of hours as the short, resilient grass lifted to seek the nourishment of the sun.

Nerissa suggested that perhaps he had left. The others attacked her angrily for her suggestion. She didn't know him, so she shouldn't speak. She had no right to do so. And if he did, it was her fault. She said nothing, as she couldn't really argue with that logic. If he did leave, she didn't know why for sure, but he had certainly been unhappy ever since she had shown up.

So she followed them in silence as they finally left the campsite. They were discussing what they were going to do, if they should send for another, or try to enter the dungeon as they were. They were very afraid that they couldn't make it, and perhaps they should give up the fight, as it was Ferruk tasked with the extermination of Prince Keleseth, not the rest of them.

Nerissa, afraid to talk, but feeling it was too important to keep silent about, broke in, "We have to go. Someone has to do it, and we're all there is. And we can't leave Ferruk's work undone. Tell me I don't know him all you want to," she continued defensively, "but I know he wouldn't want that."

They glared at her, and then went back to talking, their voices lower this time, clearly excluding her. Suddenly she realized clearly that she was very unwanted. In their minds, she had replaced their dear friend, and she was a terribly poor trade.

She slowed down, letting them draw away from her, and then turned back towards town. She didn't know what she would do, but she did know that she shouldn't follow them anymore. Kicking her gelding forcibly, she sent him into a breakneck gallop towards the lift down to Vengeance Landing.

He skimmed along the road, his hooves thundering, and she watched the ground fly past. They leaped over ruts and careened past potholes, sometimes missing them by mere inches. The wind whipped the tears from her face, and she spurred him on, faster and faster.

She was running away from the tears, tears that seemed ever in front of her.

Then she heard it, the flapping of wings behind her. Her pursuer dropped closer, closer, closer. Suddenly terrified, she turned the gelding into the woods, hoping that the trees would confound the flying beast above.

The world was a roar of sound—terrified hooves, flapping wings, and the thunderous terror of her own heartbeat.

For a moment, she regretting leaving the others behind, but then a cold understanding fell over her. They would hand her over, anyway. Only Ferruk had had any vested interest in her at all.

She sobbed as she realized that this was how it all ended. That she wouldn't get to tell him she was sorry, that she loved him, that she'd marry him. Suddenly it didn't matter who was wrong or right.

Of course it didn't… it was too late.

The flapping of wings drew closer, and she saw a glob of froth hit her arm. Her gelding wouldn't last much longer. They would never make it.

* * *

Sticking to the woods, Ferruk followed Nerissa back towards town. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She had abandoned her only protectors. He felt a towering fury overcome him. How typical of her to do something so totally unthinking. She cared so little about her own life, it was a wonder she'd survived this long.

He kicked his worg into a gallop, watching the trees, and trying to keep her in sight at the same time. It was this preoccupation that landed him in the camp. He literally ran straight into it before realizing it. The smell of blood alerted him, and he stopped. Looking around, he saw the strange carnage, and a frisson of fear ran up his spine.

There was no reason to assume that it had anything to do with them, with Nerissa, with the group… and yet there was also no reason not to. And the strangeness of it, of multiple men assassinated in their beds while they slept feet from each other, made it impossible to ignore. He had to warn the others. All personal feelings aside, their safety was at stake.

He started searching the camp, hoping to find some clue as to what had happened and why. Then he realized that Nerissa had probably far outrun him, and considered getting on his flying mount. But even as he started to call for it, five Vrykul stepped out of the woods. The three women had bows trained on him, their worg pets snarling and slavering at their sides.

He was trapped and helpless. He couldn't defend himself, nor flee. He waited for them to kill him. "Ferruk?" One of them said, a man who seemed to be in charge.

Ferruk refused to answer, folding his arms and glaring back. He felt suddenly very small as the five stalked towards him, towering over him. The man snarled and then grunted, "Don't matter. You'll come with us anyway."

Ferruk pulled his maces out, and when they came for him, he struggled briefly, but was overpowered as easily as if he were a child. Two of the worgs pulled his arms out of their sockets, and he felt shame as he bellowed in pain.

That fast, it was over. He was taken with barely any fight at all. He was strapped into a bundle with no consideration whatsoever for his injuries, which were fairly substantial. He bellowed once more in pain before darkness claimed him and he slipped gratefully into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

* * *

Jebbik was livid. All of the people he'd gathered up were dead. What was he supposed to do, go back to Veebex and tell him that everyone had died, and he didn't know why or how? No, that certainly wouldn't do.

On the bright side, it did mean that there was a hell of a lot less money to share with anyone else. If he could only find himself a good partner, preferably one with really big muscles! Then he'd be set, and the cut would be significantly higher for both of them.

He had been rifling through pockets when he heard the sound of an approaching rider. Hiding behind a tree, he watched as an orc rode into the camp, and was enraged that the man dared to plunder the pockets of his men. The thief, those were his pockets now! Then he saw the Vrykul come up and capture the orc.

The wheels started turning in his devious little mind. If he could set that orc free, he would be so grateful that he'd help Jebbik capture one measly little elf girl.

He rubbed his hands together and set off after the orc and the five Vrykul holding him hostage. Luckily for Jebbik, they set a leisurely pace, because he had to run to keep up with them. As they neared the Keep, he had to scramble madly to keep from being seen, but managed to keep up with them.

When they started down the long ramp towards the Keep, he panicked slightly. It was going to be tough going to get out of there if he failed to win the orc's assistance. But it was for several thousand gold now that the others were dead, so he decided to keep following. So far as he knew, it was his only hope.

* * *

While Ferruk was getting himself captured, Nerissa was still running from the dark shadows of the riders overhead. She raced and dodged between the trees, trying to keep them guessing at her direction. She wasn't sure where her newfound understanding of fleeing was coming from, but supposed in some dim part of her mind that even elves had preservation instincts that took over in the face of terror.

It was, of course, inevitable that the beasts overtook her. One flew past her and its rider dropped almost directly in her path. It was Whitecrow, and she was on a collision course with him. She tried to steer the horse away from him, jerking the beast's head roughly to the side.

This resulted in the mighty gelding falling over, throwing her in a crumple of plate and flying hair. The gelding fought for footing, rolling and flailing with his dangerous hooves. At last, he found purchase and gained his footing, lurching off of her leg and to a stand. She continued to shriek in pain the whole time the gelding ground against her newly broken leg.

Healing washed over her, and she lay panting and heaving on the ground. Hooves once more approached her, these pitch black and shining like her gelding's, but cloven, unlike her gelding's. She stared up into Whitecrow's face, and suddenly, she was angry. Very, very angry.

They'd chased her away, and then they'd chased her down.

She stood up, jerking her sword free. "What do you want? Just leave me alone!"

"You're going to just run off like that? We've already lost one friend today, and you're just going to run off without saying a thing?" Whitecrow's big shoulders shifted as he spoke, a gesture betraying his nervous tension.

"You didn't want me there, and you blame it all on me that Ferruk left, too! Why shouldn't I leave? You were all ignoring me, all gossiping about me right in front of me," she growled at him, waving the broadsword as menacingly as she could manage.

"You're right. We were unfair, and we were wrong. We reacted to losing one friend by hurting another, and that wasn't right," he told her.

The sword point wavered and then fell. She sobbed again, hurt still flooding through her, attended by relief and gratitude that he hadn't said the same thing to her again as earlier. He stepped towards her, and when she didn't back away, he stepped forward again. Finally, she was wrapped in his arms.

"I lost him, too" she said, and started crying harder.

"I know," Whitecrow said softly. "We're sorry, Nerissa. When we realized you were gone, we were just as hurt as we were when we realized Ferruk was gone."

Nerissa lifted her head and looked at Nantu. Nantu nodded. Malovici nodded as well, then went back to picking at a thread that was sticking out of his thigh.

"We have to find Ferruk, but you are right, we have to complete the mission first. It's more important than any one of us, even Ferruk. There's no time to go and get another to come with us, so we will all have to work extra hard to get through this. Do you think you're up to it?" Whitecrow's soft brown eyes looked into her green, glowing ones.

She nodded. "Yes, I'm up to it. You'll see. We'll search for Ferruk after, you swear?"

His shoulders shrugged again, the characteristic gesture she'd come to know so well. "We should take you to Dalaran first," he told her.

She shook her head, and stepped away from him. "No. Ferruk first," she said. "I may be safer in Dalaran, but to be safer, I'd have to stay there forever. I would never be happy like that. I know that now. I wasn't happy before, and now I know that, too."

The others mounted up, she only after she had inspected the gelding for any damage or injury. Convinced that his worst problem was exhaustion, she walked him, the others walking along with her until he had cooled down. Then she finally mounted and rode at the smooth, easy lope they were all accustomed to.

They rode for several hours, making up the lost time. Finally, they passed where they had camped, and then could see, in the distance, the tall lamppost that marked the crossroads. They were nearing their destination, and all of them harbored their individual opinions about it. They stopped as a group and stared at the lamp, before finally setting out again.

The chill over the land seemed extra deep, extra dark, and extra cold at that moment for Nerissa. She wished she knew what the future held. The so-called prophecy did little to reassure her.

* * *

Ferruk came to strapped to a wall. He recognized the tall, fallen high elf in front of him. It was Prince Keleseth.

"How nice of you to join us, Ferruk," he said. His voice was urbane, suave, even charming. He had a slight accent, giving his voice a cultured and elegant sound. Somehow, that just made it the more chilling.

Ferruk snarled at him. "Why don't you just get it over with? Just kill me now and be done. Or Turn me, whatever."

Keleseth stepped down off the dais where the map was in the center of the room, striding slowly towards Ferruk. "Why, Ferruk. How uninspired of you! The Horde are not the only ones with intel, you know. I was quite pleased to hear that an orc was among those sent to destroy me. A futile gesture, of course, but perfectly expected."

He walked up to Ferruk and actually ran a hand down his jaw. "Yes, you will make an excellent pet," he said.

"Never!" Ferruk growled at him, rage growing in him.

"Oh, you will, Ferruk. Trust me on this one," Keleseth said, and put his hand on one of the skeletons that was slinking around him much like a dog at the heels of his master. "You will be as obedient and grateful as these, my little pet. You will destroy any who come against me. You think you won't, but I assure you, you shall.

"You will love me for the power I will give you. You will wish to please me, in order to keep it. I am a kind master. So long as you kill and obey, I will allow you to keep it," Keleseth continued. He stepped back up to the dais, nearly upsetting a small figure of a tower that was there, representing who-knows-what.

Ferruk simply stared at him, snarling and straining at his bonds. After a moment, Ferruk said, "Kill me now, because if I ever get free, I will kill you."

Keleseth's eyes crinkled above the freakish bandana that covered his mouth and nose, it being dyed to make it appear as if the bottom of his face was nothing but fangs and gore. "Ah, Ferruk, good boy, that's more like it! Show me that rousing orc spirit!

"Speaking of orc spirit, your people have such an interesting history, wouldn't you say? I especially like how easily you are controlled by a little bit of blood. Such eager slaves you make, suckling at the blood of demons, killing at your master's bidding, raping and pillaging with total abandon.

"That's true power, Ferruk. The power to destroy without conscience, the power to kill and rip and tear and sunder… yes, these are what once made your people a force to be reckoned with. Now, you are mere puppets, dancing to the whim of your Thrall. How appropriate that the very name of your leader speaks the truth of your race.

"You are slaves, Ferruk. Born to be slaves, living to stay slaves. It is the destiny of your people, and your personal destiny. You will be mine forever. I will give you power beyond your wildest imagining. Oh yes, Ferruk, snarl all you like, deny it all you wish… but the truth is, orcs are slaves, and always have been. Freedom is an illusion."

Suddenly Ferruk was slammed by a massive chunk of ice, and his muscles froze rigid as he was entombed in it. Keleseth walked up to him then, and with Ferruk's muscles and bones groaning in protest (although Ferruk himself could make no sound), he pried Ferruk's jaw open. He placed a small metal cylinder in Ferruk's jaws, and then strapped a chain under his chin, jerking it tight and twisting Ferruk's head and even his back backwards and upwards.

Within seconds, the ice melted away, but Ferruk could not dislodge the metal cylinder. Keleseth nodded, Ferruk barely able to see him out of the corner of his eye, so far back was his head tilted.

"Bring him," Keleseth commanded, and Ferruk expected to be moved. Instead, a Vrykul walked into the room, leading a dreadcaller, a demon that Ferruk recognized instantly from the Hellfire Peninsula. "I've made a bargain with Kil'Jaeden, Ferruk. I've been given this dreadcaller as a gift from him, for certain concessions once we own the Howling Fjord.

"And what, you might wonder, would I want from a demon? Of course, you shouldn't need to wonder by this point. It's obvious. You are about to dine on demon blood, and then you will be more powerful than any orc alive today. Oh, I know, you've suckled at the teat of 'honor and glory' your whole life, so you think that you will be able to withstand the call of power.

"Believe me when I tell you, Ferruk, it's unimaginable. You will find power to be the best lover you've ever embraced. You will wonder why you ever, for even a second, resisted it."

Keleseth turned to the demon, "Do it." The demon sliced its wrist with a fingernail, and Keleseth dipped his head, pulling the veil up slightly to take the tiniest lick of the poison seeping from its arm. "Ah, delectable. That is just enough to connect us, Ferruk. Now you will hear my voice, and you will learn to love it." Keleseth nodded towards Ferruk, and the demon stepped towards him.

Ferruk felt a horror like nothing he'd ever experienced before. It shot through his body with a powerful, driving force. He would rather die. He would rather die a thousand deaths. He struggled again, his mighty muscles heaving and bulging. He jerked and twisted as the dreadcaller stepped towards him, a keening sort of snarl emitting through the metal tube clamped between his jaws. He tried to clamp down harder, to collapse it so that nothing could flow through it.

To no avail. The monster stepped closer, and closer, and closer. Ferruk felt hopelessness as a sense of brutal finality fell over him. Keleseth was right, for all the wrong reasons. It was somehow fitting that he, with the brutality that he harbored in his soul, should come to this end. But he still fought it. He still dreaded it. He still hated it.

He pulled with the full force of terror, desperation, and horror at the chains that held his wrists. His powerful arms and chest bulged, cords and veins standing up on them like virulent worms intent upon destruction. Every inch of his body strained, screaming for freedom… or death.

But there was no escape. No freedom. No hope. No way out. He had abandoned those who could have saved him from this fate. He had sent the elements away though his own actions. He was totally alone.

As the thick ichor poured into the tube, he held his breath, and tried to push the bottom of his mobile, flexible tongue against it. The demon simply covered his nose with his other hand, and let the ichor continue to pour into the tube. Finally, Ferruk's autonomic nervous system betrayed him and forced him to gulp for air. As he did so, the burning ichor flowed down his throat.

He coughed and spluttered, and once more his massive bulk arched and bucked and clenched. Fire burned through him as the demon blood found its way into his system. His stomach burned with incredible agony, and as the chain was undone around his neck and the tube pulled free, he bellowed and roared in agony.

Every part of his body, from the largest to the tiniest, was afire with gripping, shrieking pain. It seemed to be an interminable moment of horrific torment, but was really only a few minutes.

Finally, he slumped against the restraints, panting and trembling. At last, he opened up his eyes. No longer green, they now glowed with an unholy red light. Easily, he yanked the chains from the wall as if they were nothing. Snapping the cuffs off of his wrists and legs, he walked to Keleseth.

There, he knelt, "What is your command, my master?"


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

Keleseth looked down at his new slave. Memories, thoughts, and most importantly, desires, flooded his mind from the minion kneeling before him. He threw back his head and laughed. The man would be so very easy to manipulate, even without the demon blood. No wonder the orcs made such good slaves.

Not only were his desires powerful and primal, but so was his rage. His expectations of others were absurdly low, yet his expectations of himself disproportionately and unrealistically high. His constant self-judgments kept him teetering on the brink between sanity and complete devolution into a mad, primal, inhumane beast.

He was, in point of fact, driven to depths of extreme guilt. A morsel of truth that Keleseth found unlimitedly amusing. He chuckled beneath the veil that made him look even more sinister than he already was. His new pet had been an extremely good man. This made the irony of his overwhelming guilt deliciously hilarious to Keleseth.

The fact that he had warped and perverted a man who was so prone to goodness that he loathed himself for a simple, normal emotion like jealousy pleased Keleseth to no end. He poked around further in Ferruk's mind, enjoying the strange and convoluted thinking the man had employed to get himself into such a lather over the whole thing that he abandoned his friends.

He even did that out of some ridiculous sense of honor and duty! It was astounding, really, the sheer amount of perverse and backwards thinking he'd managed within the last few days. Keleseth watched it flash past as he probed, and couldn't help but be greatly amused by it all.

He also noticed that Ferruk wanted to tell himself that his friends would leave him and go to safety, but that he knew better. Of course, Keleseth already knew they were on the way, but he amused himself by digging up Ferruk's vast stores of knowledge about them. It was peculiar to find how well he knew them, and how little he knew himself.

The part that pleased Keleseth the most was the fact that, if the man weren't so bloody damned good, he would have been far harder to dominate as thoroughly. But now, he knelt before Keleseth, completely at ease, his mind quiescent and still. No longer did the constant stream of thoughts bombard him.

Now, he thought only those thoughts that Keleseth gave to him.

What Keleseth failed to look into, or really even notice, was the spiritual part of Ferruk. It held no interest to Keleseth, and thus he simply ignored it. In so doing, he ignored the largest parts of Ferruk's life and upbringing and beliefs.

In short, he failed to understand what it was that made Ferruk a good man.

* * *

Nantu hated the Vrykul. They were brutal, unthinking beasts with no souls. She could look at them, and see their emptiness, their lack of substance. As a shamaness and a healer, she fully understood the spiritual nature of things. This made the Vrykul seem alien and unnatural to her, as they lacked the things she understood about other creatures.

This had been their homeland, but rather than fight back, the various tribes had simply capitulated to the Scourge, surrendering to Arthas at the tip of his hat and the false promise of riches and power. They now served zealously, without thought or consideration towards the reality of their futures as minions of an evil and blighted man.

As the group rode into the town of Baleheim, and continued through the Vrykul village, with skirmish after skirmish with the giants, she grew less and less comfortable. Killing them was easy; they mindlessly attacked the group without stopping to take stock of them. They died easily and quickly. So quickly and easily in fact, that Nantu never even needed to Heal.

No, it wasn't killing them that made her uneasy, it was the place itself. Cobwebs hung from the houses and buildings, a strange thing in such a cold land. Then there was the fact that most of the doors were gone, though a few stood broken or simply ajar. Everything seemed broken, the buildings weathered and decrepit.

She hated it every time that they had to venture into Vrykul territory, and this was no exception. Perhaps it was worse this time because of the increased danger they faced ahead. Perhaps it was because this time Ferruk was not with them. It was hard to say what it was that caused her to feel so tense and worried this time, but she was. The eerie silence (broken only by the ever-present wind) compounded by the look of neglect and abandonment about the place made her pull her cloak a bit closer.

They traveled for several hours to get through the town, until they reached the steep incline down to the Keep. There, Whitecrow stopped them.

"We'll go down to the bottom to rest and eat. We'll camp for the night there, though it'll be after dark before we get there. As usual, Mal will stand guard, but there'll be no fire tonight. Wrap up; keep your weapons at hand. From here on out, there's no safety, no place to relax even slightly." He nudged his mount forward, starting down the steep grade towards the waiting death below them.

Nantu was keenly aware of the fact that, though they had a chance against Prince Keleseth, the chance was slim. If she didn't care so much about her long-time friend, she'd damn Ferruk to hell a thousand times for running off and leaving them.

But she did care, so she followed the others down towards the forbidding mass of the fortress. She shook her head to try to clear the feeling of doom that was creeping over her, growing like a malignant cancer to prey upon her mind.

She almost mentioned her fears. Almost told the others how she felt. Then she recognized that it would change nothing. Looking into their faces, she could tell that at least Whitecrow and Nerissa were feeling terribly stressed as well. Malovici, so far as she knew, had never looked anything but dead for the most part.

They would go on. Each of them feeling their own sense of dread, each of them feeling oppressed by the gloom and size of the Keep. Each of them hoping for an outcome they didn't believe was possible.

Nantu wished that she could speak her fears, but realized that to do so might break the fragile bravado of the others. They were moving on now by force of will alone, to speak their fears to each other was to admit that they had merit. Therefore, she held her peace, and doggedly moved on.

They reached the bottom and camped for the night. They lit no fire to announce themselves, curling up cold and miserable in their bedrolls. Malovici sat in the middle of their small camp this time, not finding a perimeter as he usually did. When darkness finally fell, it was with clouds overhead and darkness deeper than any of them had seen in a very long time.

It seemed to Nantu that it was another dark omen seeking to destroy her hope.

* * *

Nerissa slept restlessly, tossing and turning, waking immediately as the cold air seeped into yet a new spot in her bedroll. At last, though, weariness drew a curtain across her mind, and she sank into a state of sheer, exhausted rest.

Until the dream came. She was standing in a room she'd never been in before. It was round with an impossibly high ceiling. On the floor was a large map, surrounded by high-backed chairs so massive that she could have sat cross-legged on them and still not taken up half the seat.

She walked into the room, looking around at the fences and the cages that surrounded the room. It was deserted, but it was warm and comfortable. In fact, it seemed to have a strange sort of dreamy look to it all, the edges of everything softened, even the colors themselves muted and pastel in their rich earth tones.

As she was looking at the map she was now standing on, she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling around, she found that she was suddenly dressed in a rich gown of royal purple velvet. The plunging neckline was embroidered with bright gold, and the whole thing shimmered with delicate sparkling gems.

Ferruk was walking towards her, his eyes scanning her velvet clad body with a devouring intensity. But there was something wrong, his eyes glowed red. She frowned, the sight jarring against the otherwise surreal beauty of the dream.

Those glowing red eyes met hers, and he smiled. Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore. She loved him, and she wanted him. She would follow him anywhere. The color of his eyes didn't matter, not even a little bit.

He walked up to her, and he was no longer in his armor, either. Now he wore dark black velvet breeches, with a white shirt that contrasted against his bright green skin. It was open at the chest, and she could see the broad, powerful muscles there. He reached up to take her hand, and helped her step back down.

The shoes she was wearing brought her up somewhat so that she was closer to his height, though still significantly shorter. She was somehow unsurprised when music drifted softly across the room, rising in volume as Ferruk swept her into a dance.

Her skirt flared behind her as he twirled her, and their eyes met and held. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, teasing around his tusk. She frowned at the image. Ferruk dancing and smiling? It seemed out of place, improbable, ridiculous, suddenly.

She faltered, and he asked her, his voice quiet and low as if not to startle her, "Isn't this what you want?"

She shook her head, looking up at him. "I want the real you," she said, "not this. This isn't you, it doesn't fit, somehow."

"I could make this the real me. I would, for you, you know," he told her.

She shook her head once more. "I want the real you that I fell in love with."

"Really?" he asked her, his arms tightening around her almost painfully, the music dying away.

"Yes," was all she could say, as they stood suddenly naked in the same room.

He kissed her then, a fierce, passionate kiss that devoured her mouth with his. Pushing her backwards until the table hit her legs, he picked her up and dropped her on it. His red eyes looked into hers for a moment as he towered over her, she lying nude and sprawled across the map.

He was fully erect, and she wondered that she could recreate him so beautifully, having never gotten a clear look at him during their single sexual encounter. She suddenly wanted to touch it, and dared to rise to her knees. As if drawn to his penis, she reached out and caressed it, watching it jerk slightly in response to her touch.

Moving forward to the edge of the map, she leaned towards him, almost forgetting that he was there, so focused was she on his penis. He growled as she reached her tongue out and tasted the clear liquid seeping already from its tip. The map, being up from the floor, but quite low, was perfectly positioned so that she could touch and caress and lick him without straining up or down.

She wrapped one hand around his penis, the other wrapping partway around one leg as she leaned in against him. Her nipples brushed slightly against his legs, her belly pressing against him fully. She felt alive with the sense of his closeness, and slipped her mouth around his penis.

As she wrapped her lips around him, she heard him gasp, and his hand tangled in her hair. He pressed into her mouth as his hand pushed on the back of her head. She found it strangely erotic, as he slowly began to press in and out of her mouth. Her hand followed her mouth, saliva beginning to run freely as she took in a breath as he pulled out and held it while he pressed into her. Her saliva lubricated the whole process, and when she moved her other hand to cup his scrotum, she found it wet already just from that.

He started to breathe faster, his hand starting to grip harder and his pace to quicken. She tugged away from him then, looking up and him as she sank back onto her heels to keep him from finding release too quickly. One hand worked up and down the shaft of his penis, the other rubbing firmly just behind his scrotum, pressing against his legs to find its way there.

He growled again, a long, low sound that resembled thunder, and then stepped forward and knelt on the map to each side of her, his penis once more right in her face. She ran her tongue up the bottom of it, looking him in the eyes as she did so. Some deep part of her cried out at the wrongness of those eyes, but it was forgotten as he pushed her backwards.

Map pieces toppled and rolled, some bouncing away as he cleared the way to lay her back. He pulled her legs around him, and though it was a strain, she managed to wrap them to each side, though they stuck a bit awkwardly straight up. She felt him at the entrance to her vaginal canal, nudging, pushing. This time, there was no resistance, even that deep part of her that tried to warn of the wrongness now silenced and forgotten.

He shoved into her, an abrupt motion that joined them completely. She gasped and jerked, groaning as he filled her. He began to stroke inside of her, and her hips thrust upward to meet his in a welcome rhythm. Their bodies moved together as if made for each other, their skin slapping together and the sound of their voices making a union of harmonious sound.

This dance, the sensual dip and dive of his penis into her, needed no better music than what it created by its own right. They kissed, their tongues flickering and teasing at one another. Her breasts jiggled, brushing against his chest, the nipples standing up eagerly to meet his hide.

He sped up, his penis stroking her and filling her, leaving her gasping for him, and then entering once more. She panted and clung to him, wanting nothing more than for him to take her completely.

As if reading her mind, he stopped and pulled away slightly, looking down at her. "Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice harsh and thick from their lovemaking.

"I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel you make me yours."

"Forever?" he asked.

"Forever," she agreed.

He snarled then, an untamed sound of bestial, frenzied triumph. He drove into her again, this time roughly, freely, as if he had forgotten she was a person. He thrust in and out of her, his muscles flexing and driving into her. To her surprise, it began to hurt, a painful splitting feeling inside her.

He growled again, a deep, thunderous roar of rage and desire. He seemed to be not only having sex with her, but instead attempting to break her, to own her, to completely consume her from the inside out.

Just as he began to orgasm, she felt a tear fall from her eye as she tried to escape the brutal, ravaging battering he was doing to her body. She looked up into his demonic red eyes, and asked, "Who are you?"

He didn't answer, his eyes glowing brighter and brighter, coming closer and closer.

She awoke when the heavens opened and rain poured down upon her, cooling her ardor as it froze to her body upon contact.

* * *

Valorin watched as the four moved in under the covering of the massive stone walk towards the Keep. Using bits of crumbled stone and old wood, they built a sort of circular lean-to, in the center of which, they started a fire. Without such, there was risk of death to the living in their party, so the way they were going about it was clearly and easily the best.

He nodded and mounted his flying mount, stifling its grumbling about the freezing rain with a cruel twist of the snout that told it more clearly than words that silence was required. He flapped up on top of the keep, finding a nook where he could keep out of the rain and still have a good view of the party below.

There, he settled in to watch and wait. Because of the Deathstalker with them, Valorin would require a time when the forsaken man was distracted. Now, of course, was no such time at all. The Deathstalker below was, if anything, hyper alert, and ever more dangerous for it.

Valorin usually liked a challenge, but this group had so far been too much of a challenge to really enjoy. Usually, when people were as tense, anxious, and on edge as this group was, they made casual, small mistakes. So far, this group had done the opposite, taking extra care and being more diligent and alert, if anything.

They remained up for much of the night, cozy in the small tent sort of thing that they'd built for themselves. When they had sufficiently dried out, including the bedrolls, they laid back down and slept the rest of the night and part of the morning. Their Deathstalker squatted, completely unmoving the entire time they slept, except for his head, which slowly scanned back and forth.

Really, it was an eerie sort of tableau, the unblinking undead weaving his head slowly back and forth over the bodies of his companions in a dark, lightless hallway while rain poured down mere feet away.

Perched far above them, Valorin was even more unmoving. Like a statue, he hovered over them the night, and morning through. Their vigilance was simply too high for him to act upon.

For now.

* * *

The mansion echoed in its silence. People moved slowly through the hallways, trying to keep feet and even breathing as quiet as possible. Passing each other, there was no verbal greeting, at most a nod or a tight, fearful smile.

The master of the house was angry today.

This meant that lives were at stake. A dropped plate could end a thousand-year life in an instant, snuffed out as if it had never been. Those who had to attend to him directly avoided eye contact and tried to be nearly invisible.

Tarisseil stepped into the room where the master sat at the dining room table, his hands deferentially behind him. He bowed, "You sent for me, master?"

"You told me that Valorin Ebbtide was the best! He hasn't sent me any sort of update. I have no idea what's going on, except that the group Chalisse sent have all been slaughtered in their beds, to the very last man. This sort of sounds like the work of an assassin, doesn't it?"

Tarisseil nodded, "Indeed it does, master."

"Well," barked Quardis, "can you explain this, or can't you?"

"I would presume, sir, that he somehow found out they were after his quarry. As he would have no idea that they were also working for you, he would naturally eliminate any competition." Tarisseil dared to say it out loud.

Quardis stared at him, and then leaned back into the elegant dining chair. His face seemed to work, contemplating the idea. "So what if Ebbtide fails? Then I have no backup system, and she might reach Dalaran. Then what?"

"I have known Valorin for fifteen hundred years, sir. I have never seen him fail. Not once."

Quardis stared at him for a few minutes. "Not once?"

Tarisseil bowed. "Not a single time, master."

Quardis tented his hands, his fingers tapping against each other. "You may go," he said, and picked up a leg of quail.

Tarisseil leaned back on the door as he closed it. He trembled in his terror, breathing deeply and rapidly, trying to calm down. It was true; he had never seen Valorin fail. But the master was unpredictable, and might still have killed him. When he had recovered slightly, he moved on down the hallway, back into the depths of the mansion and away from Quardis' awareness—thus towards relative safety.

Behind him, Quardis turned to the goblin that Tarisseil had been too distracted to notice. The goblin was scowling, "Your own man killed them, then?"

Quardis shrugged, "Looks like it."

"You had an agreement with Prince Veebex, he will be extremely displeased!" the little goblin blustered.

Quardis knew one thing for certain. The trade princes were dangerous if angered. If he didn't find a way to appease the goblin prince, Veebex would stop at nothing to destroy Quardis. The last thing he needed was the personal dislike of a trade prince.

"I think this can be settled amicably. My man has assured me that my mercenary will complete his work. Your prince has ensured that Chalisse will not be able to kill Nerissa. Everything has worked out for the best here, so far as I'm concerned." He turned and gestured at the elf to his left, "Brandeil, bring the chest."

The elf bowed and left the room for only a second, returning with an obviously very heavy chest. He sat it down at Quardis' feet and returned to his position flanking the door.

"This is the remainder of the payment, which technically pays for preventing Chalisse from killing Nerissa," Quardis said. "Take it and get out of my house."

With that, he dismissed and ignored the goblin as he struggled to lift the chest and drag it from the room. Going back to eating, he no longer cared about the goblin. The gold was a small price to pay for being free of the trade prince's attention.

When Niblox got outside the doorway where the rest of his group was waiting, he handed out a small token to each of them. Prince Veebex wanted him to bring back a quarter of the remaining payment… instead he would bring back almost all of it. He took one fifth of it, splitting it up amongst the group. Four-fifths was a perfect number, and Veebex would think nothing of it.

Indeed, he would reward Niblox handsomely for his excellent bargaining of the mighty Quardis Del'Narik. Niblox, of course, wouldn't bother to tell him that it hadn't required even the tiniest measure of bargaining.

Which was downright peculiar, really.

* * *

Halfway across the world, another goblin was in seriously deep straits. He was trying to sneak his way back out of the Keep's proper. The giants seemed to be everywhere, and the flames from the forge, while they seemed to do little more than make the Vrykul sweat, had singed Jebbik's hide and hair. There was simply no getting past them for him.

Somehow, he was beginning to think that, even if he had gotten past them, it was probably somewhere he didn't want to be. He was, of course, right on one part. He didn't want to be there.

On getting there, however, he was fully incorrect. A fact that was soon to be shown to him by the Vrykul that grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, holding the goblin between his fingers like a tiny little toy. "I will break you," the Vrykul said, and laughed. Jebbik shrunk from the rank breath that washed over his face as the giant spoke.

Jebbik tried to squirm free, but was unable to, and the Vrykul berserker threw his head back and laughed. He was about to throw the little goblin to one of his buddies, so that they could enjoy a bit of sport, when the Prince's voice echoed in his head, "What have you got there, Garl?"

Garl grunted, somehow certain he was not to get his sport today. "It's just a goblin, Majesty," he told the Prince.

"Bring him to me. He shall be the perfect test for my new pet."

Garl sighed. Throwing the goblin under his arm, he trekked off towards the Prince's chamber. At each spot where the forge spat its fire out to make creating weapons easier for the massive smiths, he waved his hand. The flamed died down to let him pass, and sprang immediately back into place behind him.

The second time, he was struck in the head by a thrown apple, and turned on the offender with a snarl. Using the other hand that wasn't holding the unfortunate, struggling goblin, he slammed his fist into the man's head. In Vrykul, he told him, "Prince's orders. Want me to tell him that you delayed me?"

The main quailed, pulling away and shaking his head vehemently. The others stepped back respectfully. Garl continued and met with no other resistance. Arriving at the Prince's chamber, he bowed and dangled the goblin by a leg. "What shall I do with him, Master?"

Prince Keleseth grinned. "Hold onto him for now," he said. Summoning the demon again, he dribbled enough of its blood into the goblin's mouth so that he could read the creature's mind as he had Ferruk's.

Then he started laughing. This was far too easy! Too coincidental, too perfect, by anyone's standards!

Keleseth turned to Ferruk. "See that goblin, Ferruk?"

Ferruk grunted in response, showing no other reaction, his red eyes boring into the goblin, terrifying him.

"I want you to kill him, Ferruk. Tear him apart." Keleseth crossed his arms, hoping that Ferruk would mindlessly obey.

He did not. "Why? He has done nothing to me. He's certainly not a threat to any of us."

Jebbik agreed, "That's true! What possible harm can I be? I'm not even three feet tall! I'm weak, I'm small, and I'm not even smart!"

Keleseth grinned. If he could convince Ferruk to kill the goblin while it was begging for its life, he would have total, perfect control over the man.

Instead of turning to the demon blood, Keleseth turned to the jealousy and protectiveness innate to Ferruk, "Do you know why he's here, Ferruk?

"He led thirty-six men into this forest, for one reason, and one reason only. He was intent upon capturing Nerissa for Chalisse." Keleseth was gratified to see Ferruk's face tighten with anger. The red glow of his eyes intensified. "That's not all, Ferruk. That's not nearly all. He promised all of those men that they could rape her as many times as they wanted to. Without mercy. Without compassion."

The goblin shrieked and protested, "I would never have let them do it! I just wanted them to feel motivated!"

"He's lying, Ferruk. He even wanted a turn at her, himself," Keleseth continued. The goblin continued to protest, swinging from Garl's hand like a berserk pendulum. "He planned on healing her, over and over again, so that they could continue uninterrupted, without care for her pain and suffering."

The goblin, deeply aware of his predicament, continued to adamantly shriek protestations of innocence. False, of course, but it didn't matter to him, he just wanted to survive this hellish nightmare.

Ferruk, though, had heard enough. He reached out and grabbed Jebbik, yanking him out of Garl's hands unceremoniously, even roughly. Fury drove through him, and the demon blood in his veins sang.

"Do it! Do it!" it seemed to chant with every thrumming beat of his heart.

This… this thing… this creature… intended to inflict terrible physical and emotional harm upon Nerissa. It had to die. The demon blood whispered to him then, "Not just die, though. No. A rapist who would do those horrific things to your beloved Nerissa doesn't deserve a swift death. Make him suffer!"

With a snarl, Ferruk yanked an arm off. "No, no… too fast, Ferruk!" the blood whispered. "Do it slow. Torture it. Make it hurt, make it squirm! Can't you see it standing over Nerissa, cock in hand, preparing to ravage her?"

Ferruk roared as the image rose to the surface of his mind. Instantly, the rage washed over him, and the blood whispering in his mind got more than it bargained for.

Instead of convincing Ferruk to torture the goblin, the words spurred him into a streak of uncontrollable brutality. He yanked the goblin apart with sudden, abrupt motions. The other arm went flying. A leg followed. Using the remaining leg as a handle, blood splashing and spraying while Jebbik shrieked in pain and terror, Ferruk slammed the goblin's head to the ground, battering it relentlessly.

As blood flew, Ferruk reveled in it. It sparkled and twinkled in the air. His senses were so heightened that he could hear it patter sweetly to the ground. It smelled of exquisite delights. He forgot why he was angry. He forgot everything but the feel of bone crushing between his fingers, the grotesque, wet slurp as the body struck the floor again and again, and the delicious scents, sounds, and sights of the precious, beautiful blood showering around him like the sweetest of spring rains.

Long after the goblin was dead and inert, Ferruk kept battering the corpse. When it failed to yield anymore of its nectar, Ferruk looked up and saw a Vrykul standing impassively in front of him. The enemy! His enemy!

Covered in blood… beautiful blood. The Vrykul smelled of blood, warm, pulsing, living blood. Not the cold, coagulated mess that Ferruk was standing in now.

Ferruk threw what remained of the goblin aside and grasped the Vrykul. "Ferruk, no!" Keleseth shouted. The last thing he needed was a conflict between the Vrykul and his new pet.

But Garl just laughed and growled, "I'm gonna enjoy this!" The other Vrykul laughed and jeered at Ferruk.

Keleseth sat back in his chair then. Ah, how these beasts loved conflict. Unfortunately, Garl didn't stand even the slightest chance against Ferruk now that the orc was enhanced with demon blood. Keleseth settled in to watch, absent-mindedly caressing the skull of a skeleton that skulked at his feet very much like a dog. This was even better than he'd hoped for!

Ferruk took advantage of the Vrykul's distraction, and yanked him forward, tripping the man as he stumbled. Garl fell to his knees with a crash, swearing in his native tongue. Ferruk didn't waste time letting the man recover, kneeing him in the gut with one powerful leg.

Garl fell to his side and rolled forcefully to his back. He tried to get up, only to find his face meeting an implacable fist with mind-numbing force. It was his first inkling that he was in real trouble. The blow broke his cheekbone, and snapped his head back to the ground with such fury that it cracked the bone in his skull—no mean feat, considering it was nearly six inches thick.

But Garl managed to get a leg up and over Ferruk's head, using the massive hamstring to throw Ferruk back and off of him. He tried to leap to his feet, but the pain in his head was too great, so he managed a half-kneel, trying to force himself upwards. Anger boiled in him, lending him strength.

But Ferruk was already up, and the misuse of a leg to dislodge him gave him the perfect idea, and he brutally smashed his fist into the side of the Vrykul's knee. The knee exploded outwards, and bright white bone poked through the skin, breaking it open.

Ferruk laughed, a demented, chilling sound. Blood. Fresh, beautiful, divinely scented blood. A shriek of pain, a deliriously scrumptious sound more flavorful than the sweetest of pastries. He hit the knee again, and heard bone snap in the man's pelvis as the force of the blow dislocated the hip and broke the pelvis.

Garl bellowed in pain and rage, the force of it magically enhanced. Ferruk flew across the room, slamming bodily into the wall. He laughed and ran back towards the Vrykul, picking up unnatural momentum. He sprang up onto a chair, and used its height to drive him far up into the air.

When Garl looked up, it was too late. He tried to move away, but Ferruk landed on him, full-force, in the gut. Ferruk, without pause as he landed, took his hand, and with sharp fingernails leading the way, shoved it into the Vrykul's belly like a knife blade. Driven by the force of his momentum, it sliced through leather and into the man's intestines, breaking only two of the nearly steel-hard nails in the process.

Ferruk, in a move that even sickened the brutal Keleseth, pulled his hand back out, yanking intestines out and laughing maniacally. He continued to dig in the man's belly as the Vrykul lay now silent and in obvious and terrible suffering. Ferruk had inadvertently punctured a kidney in the same way that the assassin had done on purpose just a short time before in the camp full of riffraff.

Keleseth, while he watched his pet revel in death, carnage, and fresh blood, couldn't help but feel very satisfied (albeit slightly sickened). The man had completely gone off the deep end. He'd killed an unarmed goblin in the most brutal manner imaginable. He'd then gone on to kill an opponent many times weaker than him in the same delirious and brutal manner.

Simply because of the man's predilection for guilt, Keleseth owned his soul now.

Keleseth tried not to watch the gory, bizarre scene before him as Garl's life slowly leaked out onto the floor, much to Ferruk's perverse, bloody glee.


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

Chalisse entered the Royal Exchange again. Slipping quietly into the building, she stepped up to the crystal. It was her third time in here within twenty-four hours, and she could only hope that it was early enough in the morning to escape notice.

She wanted the Power in that crystal with a fierce and driving passion that consumed her. Her throat felt dry, her skin was soaked in sweat, and she trembled violently every few minutes. She had to have Power, the pain and hunger was becoming intense.

She began to drain the being trapped in the crystal, and she could see his baleful red eyes watching her yet again. Often, this made her feel that much more powerful, but this time, they seemed to condemn her for her groveling, wretched need. The baleful eyes gazed at her with hateful, direct regard, and she summoned her courage to take from them what she wanted and needed.

At last, she sank onto the cushions, delirious with the sweetness of Power that flowed through her. She ran her hands over her body, soon tugging free from her clothes. It was too early in the morning for her to be disturbed, and it was generally good form to ask before joining someone anyway (though watching was considered entirely within the bounds of courtesy—do it in public, someone's going to watch it, most likely).

So she abandoned herself to the physical sensations the crystal's Power imparted to her. She grasped her breasts, tweaking at her nipples. In her mind, she was being ravaged by a powerful demon, who was tugging and even biting at her nipples (the last accomplished with a sharp, fingernail based pinch). This was a common fantasy for her, and she indulged it recklessly now.

She imagined him drinking from her blood, and she felt real blood trickle down her breast as she dug her own fingernails into her chest. Abandoned to her quest to satisfy the virulent lust that was surging through her, she gave herself up to the demon in her mind, pleasuring herself in brutal, debased ways to the mental visage of a gloating demon.

A demon that looked very much like a dreadcaller.

* * *

They rode slowly down the corridor. It was wide, so wide that it was most likely once used to haul in large cartloads or wagonloads of goods. Now, though, it dripped incessantly with cold water, while bits of fallen stone decorated it like forlorn and forgotten children's toys.

Relics of the past, the fallen stone in the passageway seemed to speak, warning them to turn, go back, give up the quest for Prince Keleseth, and flee to the safety of Dalaran. The rotten walls, covered in some places in a slimy sheen, pressed down upon Nerissa like a stark, painful blanket on her soul.

She actually entertained the idea of turning back. She genuinely considered it, until the most terrible of facts occurred to her. "Ferruk has the amulet that can teleport me up to Dalaran," she said bleakly.

Stunned, the entire group stopped and turned to stare at her.

"Seriously?" Malovici asked, his golden orbs directed upon her.

"Yes," she responded, her heart sinking.

"What a clusterfuck," Malovici said, his voice somehow amused, as if he found it to be over-the-top funny. A grand, cosmic joke at all of their expense. "That sure puts a kink in it, don't it."

Then, pragmatically, he turned and started back up the dank, musty corridor again. The others turned to follow him, Nerissa numb at the revelation. Despite dire expectations, some part of her had been holding out hope that a cure could be found. That she could be freed.

But now, as she set off down the corridor after the others, her mind roiled with the pain of lost hope. Who knew if they would ever see Ferruk again at all? Who could say if they would survive this terrible experience? Who knew what would become of her?

An emptiness settled into her. The thought of never seeing Ferruk again was agonizing. Without realizing it, she said aloud, "Now I know why love is so difficult. I can't imagine living another thousand years without ever seeing Ferruk again." It had finally sunk in for her that she probably would never see him again.

Whitecrow gave her a gentle, warm rub on her shoulder, his big hand kind and understanding. Her loss was recent, and most people did eventually heal from loss. But as Whitecrow well knew, other people were haunted for years, if not their lifetimes, by a loss that becomes a defining part of who they are. It was possible that Nerissa would be such a person. He knew he was still haunted by his own love and loss.

They rode further into the corridor, each of them feeling a sense of oppression as the walls closed in both behind and in front of them. The ancient ruins, of unknown heritage and experience, seemed to whisper of past secrets, as if to reveal them at last. Only, in the end, to be frustrated by the fact that the language it spoke, and the language of the riders, was a world apart.

The group picked their way through the rubble carefully, wary of their mounts—and any possible ambush. Several times, Malovici mounted his wyvern to ride forward and inspect great gaps in the wall. Gaps which, if one were to ride too close to and slip, plunged thousands of feet to the dangerous, frigid waters below.

It was a death trap, and they were riding willingly right into it. The chill they felt was not entirely due to the cold or even the damp and odorous walls. The very essence of the place seemed to be a sort of spiritual subjugation, a damping of one's very soul. They traveled for hours, until at last they entered the Keep, passing from dank and decrepit corridor so vast that it seemed more like a railway for the Gods, to a cathedral-like antechamber.

Nerissa felt the added weight of the fact that they were leaving Ferruk further behind with each step. All she could think about was how he had tried to help her understand how serious her situation was. How he had asked her what she wanted to do. How he'd helped her realize that she was actually a capable and worthy paladin.

How he had comforted her when she'd realized the truth about her mother and her mother's intentions. How he had held her, and the way he'd made love to her with such depth and passion. The tenderness that he had, but tried so hard to hide.

She shook her head to clear it. They were about to enter a dangerous, malevolent situation in which she needed to have all of her wits about her. Trying to distract herself, she looked up and studied the architecture that towered so far over them that it was actually softened by mist at the top. Ornate curved beams softened the harsh, utilitarian stone. Massive candelabras seemed to have been burning indefinitely, their spidery limbs covered in cobwebs and dust.

Soon, they faced the hallway into the Keep proper. Here, doors had once stood, but now the rotting wooden beams that had once supported them were bare and broken. They smelled of mildew and decomposing wood.

Beyond the doorway, though, they could see several Vrykul working at anvils. It seemed to be the standard working ritual for underpaid, undermotivated people… three men watching, one man working.

The confrontation was about to begin.

* * *

"She is deeply addicted, my lord. I believe that she's reached the point of real physical withdrawal. It's not even night yet, and she has been to the Exchange's power crystal a total of three times. Yesterday it was three, as well. But I suspect that today will be four times, as she has already been three times today, and the first was near three am," Tarisseil informed Quardis.

"As such," he continued, "I think the easiest way to create an accident for her would simply be a tainted power source. I suspect that if she found one on her way to the Exchange, given her… perhaps, shall we say, less scrupulous nature, she would be unlikely to try to find its owner, and very likely to simply consume it. Especially if you can somehow manage to cut her off from magic and make her desperate."

Quardis leaned his elbows on his chair, clasping his hands and steepling his index fingers in front of him. Leaning against them thoughtfully, he considered what his man was telling him.

"So, what we must consider, is how to taint the thing so that it isn't necessarily obvious, and yet also to keep this subtly tainted magic source from being traced back to us."

Tarisseil nodded, "Those seem to be the main issues, sir, yes. However, I would also like to point something further out. When she is in the deepest throes of her addiction, she seems to become a bit oblivious of her surroundings. She looks around, but doesn't even seem to see what is there. It will have to be something definitively eye catching. Which makes it that much harder to taint without it being obvious."

"Hmmm," Quardis said pensively. "Yes, that does complicate it. I would say that the ones most likely to be able to create such a power source would be the gnomes. I need a gnome, Tarisseil."

"Yes, master," Tarisseil said, knowing this was his dismissal. _How about I just get the moon, the sun, and the stars for you, too, oh great and bastardly master?_ he thought to himself as he left the room.

* * *

The group dismounted, and without preamble, Whitecrow stepped past the threshold of the long-lost doors and up the hallway a ways. Malovici disappeared into the shadows, following the other two up the passageway. When they caught up, Whitecrow threw a small throwing axe, which bounced harmlessly off of its target's hard leather tunic.

It served its purpose, though, as the Vrykul bellowed, running towards them, his not-so-little friend hot on his heels.

Whitecrow grinned and let the thrill he felt at the impending battle turn into a powerful burst of speed that swept him down the passageway and let him slam into his target with such concussive force that it actually stunned the Vrykul and his companion. Taking advantage of their momentary incapacitation, he let loose a mighty swing with his axe, cutting a small ridge into the first man's hard leathers.

Nerissa leaped forward as Whitecrow zinged away from them, reaching the fight mere moments after he had. She called upon the Light, consecrating the ground all around her, blessing it with a holy fire that burned those not attuned to her. Malovici, for his part, scampered behind Whitecrow's target, a large Vrykul with a scar that ran from his forehead to his cheekbone.

Slipping behind Scarface, Malovici then leaped into the air, and with a spin, stabbed the giant in the back. His dagger sank deeply into him, slicing through the leather like it wasn't even there. It was an incredibly lucky strike, digging into a nerve just above his hip on the right side. Scarface fell forward, his right leg no longer working properly, and bellowed in pain.

Like Whitecrow, Scarface was able to imbue his roar with the magical essence of his rage, and it unnerved them all slightly, so that their responses were ever-so-slightly impaired.

Behind them, Nantu laughed, as if she found his roar hilarious. She began to chant, and a wave of magic washed over the other three. Suddenly, they found themselves awash in a daze of bloodlust. Each of them hungered suddenly for death, for carnage, for retribution.

Nerissa's sword sang through the air, cutting into the hard, inches-thick leather of Scarface's tunic. 'Whoosh,' it sang, until it landed with a thick, meaty sounding 'whomp.' Nerissa was pleased to find that it seemed to cut into his leathers easily.

But she wanted more. Murmuring an incantation, she called forth Holy magic that sparkled and danced around her for a moment. A seal appeared in the air before her, before it faded from visible sight unless someone were to focus on her and stare for a moment. She slashed again, and was gratified to see her strike dig a bit deeper, hit a bit harder. But the additional power was not without personal cost. It reverberated up her arms, bringing a stinging pain with it, and exhausting her faster. It ate into him, but wrenched at her, as well.

It didn't matter. She lifted the sword, and called upon Holy magic once more. A hammer, formed only of ethereal, ephemeral Holy magic appeared over Scarface's head, sparkling and radiating Holy power that showered down around him in brilliant sparks. It hung suspended for just an instant, before it slammed down upon him with a mighty crushing blow.

The energy discharged from it was powerful, but once more, not without personal cost. It slammed into him, causing him to arch and roar with pain. But the backlash struck Nerissa as well, and she staggered slightly, before pressing forward again.

Nerissa cringed as a dagger flew past her head. Malovici was at it again, his seemingly endless supply of throwing knives zipped out around him as his fingers danced, snapping the tiny daggers out at incredible speeds. His hand zipped back and forth in front of him, bizarrely able to throw knives both in front of, and behind him, with equally deadly accuracy and speed.

He flexed his fingers for a couple seconds, before doing several combination attacks. He repeated the maneuver several times, much to Nerissa's discomfort (even daggers thrown by an elite rogue are unnerving flying past your face). She continued to batter at Scarface with deadly swings of her broadsword that rapidly ate away the leather on his back as she tried to ignore the fan of knives flashing ever so close to her.

She danced around the Vrykul's feet as they thrashed around, he trying to make up for the right leg having been rendered useless. He was able to kneel on it, but not use it, thus he kicked with the left leg, thrashing and causing Nerissa to practically dance to avoid it.

She was grateful that her armor was made for moving, not so much for taking direct blows.

Whitecrow, for his part, was laughing in Scarface's face. Taunting him, daring him, deriding him. These taunts were not only verbal, they held a slight magical compulsion as well.

The giant man could do little damage to the tauren warrior. Whitecrow's armor was thick and heavy, hard to penetrate with any sort of materials. Being a massive man, Whitecrow easily moved in it, and even more than that, he had spent years perfecting his ability to dodge and otherwise avoid incoming blows. The Vrykul's maces bounced off of him, or were reflected, more often than not.

He swung his vast shield as if it weighed little more than a child, using it to batter at his enemy. He was truly a very powerful warrior, and his armor had many enhancements to aid him. He had spent great amounts of money improving it. And in this battle, it certainly showed, for the damage he dealt was almost as great as Nerissa's damage, despite she being especially trained specifically for damage, not avoidance as Whitecrow was.

Nantu called upon the elements, unleashing powerful magics that at times brought comfort and healing to her party, and at other times brought pain and savage injury to their opponents. Her creepy little totems, some of them grinning simulacrums of skulls or faces, distorted and malevolent, surrounded her, staring balefully out over the fight with casual impartiality.

Scarface rapidly succumbed to their methods, toppling forward where he knelt. The other was dispatched even more rapidly, his life already almost ended by the various methods they'd each used to spread out the damage of their blows or their magic as much as they could.

They moved on down the hallway. They fought their way towards the forge room, each fight going much as the first one had. As they approached the first large room, they felt the torrid atmosphere of it bringing sweat up on their brows, even tickling down Nantu's back. Whitecrow's black fur matted with sweat, and Nerissa seemed enervated. Nantu noticed that it was hitting Nerissa hardest of all, she being from the moderate Eversong woods rather than a hot climate like Durotar or even Mulgore.

They stood on the threshold of the room, looking at three Vrykul making weapons at the forge. One of them hefted a huge steel blade, letting it down into the water with a 'hiss' audible from where they were as steam rose from the water. For all that fire burned seemingly everywhere, even shooting out of the forge and up the walls, the room was dark and gloomy.

Somehow, none of them had ever really noticed this before, though it seemed that the Vrykul repeatedly had to be cleared out, as they kept coming back over and over again. But perhaps that was because the situation had never been this dire before.

Whitecrow and Nerissa slowly stepped forward, Malovici cloaking himself in shadows and magic that distracted and confused the mind and sight if one looked at him. Nantu followed, and Whitecrow waited for Nantu's signal before zipping across the room. Once more, battle was engaged, the Vrykul reeking of unwashed bodies and other foul odors of unknown origin.

Soon, the scents of blood and eviscerated intestines were added to the general stench as Malovici finalized the kill of the first Vrykul with a stabbing slash to his belly that tore him open, and then the massive axe in Whitecrow's right hand completed the job of disemboweling the giant man. The other Vrykul shouted in anger, one of them leaning forward to spew rank breath and spittle onto Whitecrow's face.

The battle lasted only moments, once more leaving Nantu with little healing to do. She sighed as they moved on, since it wasn't really in her make up to be using the powers gifted to her by the Elements for harm. She feared the old ways of her people, ways that she saw as barbarous and dangerous. Not only for others, but also for the trolls, themselves.

Following behind them, she realized that she was beginning to have a crisis of faith. All that she had known all her life was barbarism and death. Now, thanks to being abandoned by a friend, she was left to mete it out herself. Was there nothing sacred? No place safe?

She followed the others, but she felt herself falling willingly behind. The scents of sulphur, blood, feces, putrid sweat, rotting wood, and mildew ate at her very soul like darkness itself.

Each time that the ancient forge lost the worker at the bellows, it ceased belching forth another line of flames. They were fortunate, in that the workers seemed either so wholly wrapped up in their own work that they didn't notice, or were careless of whether or not others slacked in their duties.

Soon, the room was clear, each killing depressing Nantu further. When they were done, they prepared to move off down the corridor, deeper into the heart of darkness, deeper into the evil of the Keep.

Nantu sat down and shook her head. "I ain't goin'," she said. "I ain't gonna kill no more, and I ain't gonna go no deeper inta hell. I can'ts, I gonna lose meself in here."

The others, to her surprise, walked back to her and sat down with her.

"I don't want to go any further, either," Nerissa said. Her voice quavered with the same fear and uncertainty that Nantu felt.

Nantu was relieved that at least someone understood. Even if it was the spoiled little society princess.

* * *

Valorin followed the group inside the Keep, moving slowly, staying well behind them. He slowly and carefully slipped along the walls, watching. It was unfortunate when the troll woman fell behind; he wished it had been his prey instead. He really didn't want to tangle with this group, but the further they went into the keep, the more difficult the situation would get for him.

So he continued to abide and wait. When they sat down, however, he cursed his luck. They'd sat down in such a way and such a place that he couldn't keep out of their line of sight without keeping the forge between them. And if he were to keep the forge between them, he either had to be close enough to it to see around it without being seen… or he had to risk them moving on without him knowing exactly when.

He was pretty sure that they didn't know they were being followed. Not directly anyway. Of course, they knew someone would be following at some point, and thus their extreme level of caution. But they didn't know the nature of whom or what was following them, or that he was already there.

He didn't think so, anyway.

He tapped his fingers to his chin for a moment and settled in to wait, the fire making it difficult to see to them. His magic "vision," was almost as reliable as normal vision, except in times like this, when heat signatures and various other auric patterns melded too much together. For a normally sighted person, it would be akin to fog, smoke, or mist obscuring their vision.

He didn't like it. Indeed, he pretty much despised it to the highest possible degree. Blindness was just unacceptable to someone in his profession.

But he had to have his prize. He had to get Nerissa to get what it was he had craved so much since he had died so long ago. He wasn't supposed to have a memory of The Life Before. The time of which no Forsaken ever spoke. The collective rage was acceptable, but personal hate and rage had to be subsumed, thrown away, for the greater good.

He'd tried, he'd really tried. For over a hundred years, he'd tried. But at last, he'd realized that the memory he had, while it wasn't his whole life's story, was something he couldn't let go. So he'd planned, and he'd worked.

He would live forever, and the object of his passionate hate would live for centuries, even millennia. He'd waited, prepared, learned. He'd become the single best assassin he could possibly be. All for this opportunity that he faced now.

Capture one insignificant elf, and the answer to his lifelong (undeathlong?) ambition would be his. A simple enough task, one would think.

He sighed. Patience. Ever with the patience. Just a little while longer. Wait for the right time. Wait, be still, be calm, don't rush in.

Of all the missions he'd been on, this one was the most important.

_No mistakes, Valorin,_ he told himself. _No mistakes… _

_

* * *

_

Geraniel sighed as the bundle under his arm started squirming and kicking again. Dropping it without remorse, he kicked it mid-fall, and it flew down the corridor ahead of him. Geraniel was in a very foul mood today. Getting a gnome, and making sure it was a gnome engineer, to boot, had taken him all the way to (where else?) Gnomeregan.

So now the little bugger dared to squirm and kick at him? No way. He could just ride all the way to Quardis' office suite the old fashioned way. Well, old fashioned for a gnome, anyway. Probably.

Geraniel kicked the bundle again, watching it roll and bounce down the hallway. Oh hell, he probably better pick it up, in case it died. He, it was a male. Geraniel tried to remember that; it was only polite, after all, to at least get the creature's gender right.

Stuffing it under his arm, Geraniel strode faster down the hallway. Soon, he was met by Tarisseil, who was coming from the opposite direction, his long blond hair blowing in the breeze created by his wide strides as he walked down the hallway.

He stopped and asked, "Got one?"

Geraniel nodded, and they turned together towards Quardis' office. Tarisseil hoped that Geraniel hadn't screwed this one up. They stepped inside the office without so much as knocking—they were expected.

"Well?" Quardis said stonily, expecting to see the gnome, and instead seeing only two of his manservants.

Geraniel plopped the bag down on a chair and untied it, pulling it off of the tied up gnome. The gnome was bruised and battered, one eye swollen shut, and one obviously broken arm.

Quardis got up and walked over to him, pulling the engineering tape off of his mouth. The gnome immediately started spewing invectives in gnomish, until Quardis raised his hand. "Can ye speaketh common?" he asked in human language. He'd known it since childhood, as his father was once an ambassador. He was unaware that his common was somewhat antiquated.

"Yeh, I can speak it, better'n you can," snapped the gnome.

"Apologies, my good gnome," Quardis said. "Mightest I ask thy name?"

"Felix Whiskerpull," the gnome snapped, "what ya want from me?"

Quardis bowed, "I hast need of thine assistance, Mister Whiskerpull. But it appears that mine assistant hath sorely mistreated thee. Would this be fact, sir?"

"Why yes it would be fact," the gnome growled, crossing his arms. "So I ain't helpin' you!"

"Sorely vexed, I am, at his most unseemly and improper behavior, good sir. I wish to show thee mine sincere concern for thine welfare," Quardis told the small man. Gesturing to Tarisseil, he waited impassively while the man stepped up behind Geraniel and garroted him. Within moments, the shocked gnome staring in amazement, Geraniel was dead.

Quardis brought food and wine and served the gnome himself. "The food art most restorative, good sir. I doth hope it improves thine health."

The gnome ate greedily, watching Quardis out of the corner of his eye and hoping that he didn't get strangled with a wire, too. While he ate, his health improving with every bite of magical food, Quardis went to his chair and pulled out a small box. Walking back to the gnome, he set it down in front of him. It didn't contain much, really, just 120 gold pieces. But the gnome's eyes lit up with avarice.

"Wouldst thou find thyself interested in assisting mine need for such an reward?" asked Quardis, playing casually with one of the gold pieces.

"I might be in'trested," the gnome said. "Whatcha got in mind?"

Quardis, in his antiquated common, explained exactly what he wanted, but left the technical details up to the gnome. Finally, Felix said, "If'n I ask ya what ya want it for, I 'sume I'll end up like that fellow?" He crooked his thumb at Geraniel.

"I believe thou mightest be on the right track there, sir Whiskerpull," Quardis said.

Felix grinned and agreed. This was going to be fun. He grabbed a coin and shaved a bit off of it with his knife. It was real.

Oh yeah. It was going to be very, very fun.

* * *

"Why don't you tell us what's bothering you?" Nerissa probed Nantu.

"I ain't usin' mah magic dis way," Nantu said. "It da very reason why I dun want ta be like da ancestors of da trolls. Cuz dey misusin' da gifts."

Nerissa pondered a moment. "So, killing with the gift bothers you? Do I understand you correctly?"

Nantu nodded, relieved. "Das right."

Nerissa patted Nantu gently on the leg, and then wrapped her arms back around her own legs. "I don't want to go on, either. I've never really struggled the way you are right now. I've always been comfortable using my magic the way I do. I've always held prejudices of who's good and who's evil, and just went with it. But I'm scared.

"These last few days have really stretched and challenged many of my assumptions, and given me new things to consider. I don't want to go on, but I will. And I'll keep using my magic the way I am, for one reason, and one reason only. Because for the first time in my life, people are really, genuinely relying on me.

"Everyone in Vengeance Landing is relying on me. The people in Camp Winterhoof are relying on me. Even the alliance, though they don't know it, are relying on me. I can't let them down. I can't let Ferruk down, no matter what happened that made him run away.

"If you truly can't go on, I understand, and I won't judge you for it. But I can't go back with you. There are too many people relying on me to save their lives, and maybe even help begin to forge a future of freedom for their children." She patted Nantu again on the leg. "We each do as much as we can do. I hope that I have it in me to keep on, no matter the odds, even if I die trying. When I die, I want it to be for something that means something to me. Maybe that's today, I don't know."

Whitecrow added his thoughts; "I'm going on because it's the right thing for me. It feels right, it feels like I'm honoring myself, the traditions of my people, and the lives of those who have died clearing the way for me."

Whitecrow looked over to where Malovici was sewing the bottom of a foot back on, his boot sitting on the floor beside him. Noticing Whitecrow and Nerissa staring at him, he paused, "What?"

Nerissa asked him, "Are you staying and fighting in, or leaving?"

Malovici shrugged, "Staying, of course. Why?"

"Well," Nerissa asked, "why are you staying?"

Malovici's unblinking eyes stared at her for a moment. He cocked his head to the side and seemed to ponder the question. "Well, because I like to kill stuff."

Whitecrow snapped at him, "Mal!"

"What?" Malovici said. "They like to kill stuff too! You should just be glad I'm on _your_ side!" He promptly went back to sewing his foot together.

And Nantu laughed. It started out light and half-hearted, but then gained momentum. Finally, wheezing slightly, she managed to answer Whitecrow and Nerissa's puzzled looks. "'E's right! Be damned if 'e ain't right! Dey does likes ta kill stuff!" she blurted, and laughed again. Soon, Whitecrow and Nerissa joined her.

"An' I _am_ glad 'e's on our side!" Nantu added.

"Finally, someone appreciates me!" Malovici said. "Can we go now?" He crammed the boot back on his newly mended foot, and the party set off deeper into the Keep.

As they moved along the corridor, Nantu told Nerissa, "Yer right, too. Thanks."

The four stood now in the doorway to the stables. Whitecrow was amused by the fact that they put hay in the stables, along with fire-breathing drakes. Oh well, it didn't seem like they were all that smart to begin with, and if they managed to kill themselves and their mounts with that sort of stupidity, more power to them.

Edging along the wall, he eased in and to the left. The first drake was by itself, apparently finishing off a carcass of some animal or another—or a person wrapped in furs. He considered which way to go about killing the thing, and decided that he would bring it outwards and have the others go back into the stall.

In such a manner, he could avoid setting fire to the straw, as well as hopefully not drawing too much attention in the vast room. He explained his intent to the others in a low voice, and then zinged across the room, his hooves easily finding purchase on the straw-strewn stone floor.

He turned the drake away from them as they ran behind it and into the stall. The drake belched fire at him, singing his fur where it peeked out of his armor, blinding him for a moment, and sending searing pain across his skin. Even insulated as he was by a thick winter coat, it was painful. He was glad he'd turned it from the others, so that they wouldn't be in as much pain as he was at the moment.

But Nantu, as always, was there. A soft glow of Healing washed over him, even renewing the singed fur. He smiled to himself. It was ironic that just before the place where her healing would be most needed, Nantu had her personal crisis of faith.

Behind the drake, Nerissa and Malovici were working their magic—whether of physical prowess or literal magic. Malovici had managed to penetrate the thick scales on the creature's hip, and had severed a tendon there. The drake flapped as it tried to remain standing with one leg rendered severely painful to make use of.

Nerissa was slashing at it so severely that chunks of scales were falling to the ground. Her magic fire flashed across the floor, leaving the straw untouched, but blazing up the severely crippled drake's legs and wingtips where they touched the ground.

Nantu's magic washed over each of them when the drake unexpectedly turned on Malovici when the Forsaken man stabbed too deeply into a flank with one of the daggers. Suddenly she was needed most for what she did best again—healing. Fire had surged across all three of the others, and Whitecrow gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts at keeping it focused on him.

The fights were quick, rough, and difficult. Some of the beasts had handlers with them, Vrykul intent upon protecting their precious winged mounts. The group carefully cleared out the entire room, despite its significant size. A short discussion determined that leaving would be easier if none of the beasts (of either kind) were alive when they did so.

They stopped to watch their final opponents in this room for a moment. This seemed to be a trainer, a flight trainee, and one very intractable drake. The fight was difficult, Nantu requiring a potion to rejuvenate her Power before it was all done and said. Malovici got severely mauled by the drake at one point, and Nantu herself drew some unwanted attention from the flight trainer.

But they won in the end, and sat down to take a much-needed rest. They'd worn themselves out, each of them in different ways. And the tension wasn't easing; in fact, the closer they got to their first objective, the more difficult and unnerving it was getting. The vast hallways and ominous ceilings squatting far overhead did little to help them feel hopeful.

Perhaps that was the intent of the builders. Or maybe the builders had simply contained so much malevolence themselves, that it had seeped into the Keep from their very hands.

Resting quietly, they spoke little, and soon moved on. They were all equally contained of a mixed desire to get on with it, yet to prolong it. Except, of course, for Malovici, who seemed entirely unruffled by any of the experience so far.

Perhaps the Keep was even comfortable to him, Whitecrow thought, given how it seemed so like the rotting confines of Undercity.

As they worked their way up the uncomfortable, imposing stairways, Nerissa couldn't help but to think back on the last few days. She'd lived 60 years, and yet the last few days made the first part of her life seem surreal, as if it were another lifetime, another person.

It was incredible how much could happen in just a few short days. How life could alter irrevocably, and how a person could become someone new, fresh, and strange to herself. She didn't know herself anymore, and maybe she never had. As difficult as things were for the group right now, as tense and frightening as the experience was…

She felt alive.

She had practically melded with her sword. She knew it now, every nuance of its movements, every nick in the blade. She was one with the sword, one with the armor she wore… one with this new person that bore her name still.

Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. From the pristine pastures of Eversong Woods, where she'd been pampered and protected and watched every moment… to a place of such great danger that she could die any moment, and not to any Silvermoon assassin.

The world was the same, and it was different. She was the same, and she was different.

And it had all started a matter of mere days ago. Such a short period of time to become someone unrecognizable. Such a short period of time to go from a place of near absolute safety to a place of unrelenting danger and peril. And she'd learned so much about herself in this short period of time.

She really did care about others. She was an excellent fighter. She could love. Perhaps it was the last most of all that had changed everything for her. Her mind told her that she shouldn't love Ferruk, that his behavior had been terrible, that he had abandoned her, and that her love for him made no sense whatsoever to any thinking person.

Yet she loved him still. Her heart insisted that there was more there than met the eyes. It continually reminded her of the goodness that it was determined was there. And it even dared to insist that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be perfect to be worth loving. That maybe he simply didn't know how to handle his feelings any better than she knew how to handle hers.

It was easy to forget that he was younger than her by more than half.

She followed the group, and found her spirits actually rising. She did love Ferruk. He'd come to her in her dream, and for a while, she'd seen that part of him that she adored. She couldn't explain the end of the dream, nor the beginning. But in this, her mind and heart were in perfect accord.

The middle of the dream had been him, through and through. It was as if he'd managed to take over that part of the dream and be himself for a while, before something, some strangeness in him, had taken over and altered who he really was.

She sighed and went back to concentrating. She had battles to fight, and some of them were coming pretty close to being losses for the party. It was time to focus on the fights at hand, to be fully here.

She could only hope that there would be time enough later to contemplate the changes in herself. And if there weren't, then it would have done her no good to bother with it now.

They had almost reached the chamber the Prince was said to be residing in.

The battle was at hand.


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15

There were once doors here, as well. Now, the rotting wood smelled of decay, mold, and forgotten history. Great gaping wounds showed where there were once hinges, and the warped frame stood out from the wall in some places. Beyond the frame of the door was a large circular chamber.

In the center of the chamber was a map on a stone dais, parchment of some sort laid out like a lewd prostitute hawking her wares to the unsuspecting. Four Vrykul paced beside the map, chatting with each other or lost in thought. And beyond the map, walking impatiently back and forth, was Prince Keleseth.

His eyes glowed white above the bizarre kerchief he wore. His movements were studious, slow, thoughtful. As if he were too suave to do something so crass as pace quickly. No, he was above such things as displaying impatience beyond the smallest amount.

He looked up when they entered the room, all five of them in the room stopping to gaze at the intruders. "Ah," he said in that urbane, charming, accented voice, "our honored guests have arrived. How delightful of you to show up! I had begun to fear you'd lost your courage. What a shame that would have been."

He waved at the Vrykul around him, "Make them feel at home, won't you?"

The four men charged across the room, and Whitecrow rushed to meet them. All four of them turned on him, one of them saying, "Die, dog!"

Another simply said, "I'm going to enjoy this!"

Keleseth laughed.

The group fought the four Vrykul, their weapons dancing, their spells lighting up the air. The four Vrykul used bombs to try to rapidly devastate the party, and with all but one of them in direct proximity of the magical bombs (which did no damage to the Vrykul using them, just as they were enchanted not to), Nantu's work was cut out for her.

She struggled to keep the party alive, but in the end, the four triumphed over Keleseth's minions. Little did they know that the easy part was over.

Because Keleseth had a little surprise for them. "I have something I'd like to show you. I have a new pet. I would really like for you to get the full effect of meeting my pet, though, so do please consume some restoratives. I wouldn't want anyone to say that I'm anything less than reasonable and fair." He waved his hand magnanimously, and the party needed no other invitation.

Perhaps it was a trick, but even if they managed to restore a bit of their health or Power, it was worth taking the bait and consuming the restoratives. So they did, sitting down and quickly eating or drinking as fit their individual needs.

Keleseth, in the meantime, walked over to a door to their left, and thumped on it with the butt of his weapon. "Come on out and say hello to my new friends," he said to whatever was inside.

The party watched as the doors slowly swung open, a sense of foreboding falling over them. Then, to their complete shock and disbelief, Ferruk stepped forth from the dark room beyond them. He was looking down as he walked out, but when he entered the vast chamber, he lifted his gaze to meet theirs.

Seeing the red glow in his eyes, Nerissa gasped and recoiled as the party scrambled to their feet.

Ferruk looked up to see Nerissa standing across the room from him. His heart paused for a moment in his chest, before speeding up and trying to run away from him, and over to her, where it belonged.

In his mind, Prince Keleseth's voice whispered, 'Ah, Ferruk, just look at her. So beautiful. Exquisite really. Remember the dream? We can turn that dream into reality.

'She can be yours, unconditionally, forever, Ferruk. I can make that happen. I can bond her to you forever.' Keleseth stepped away from Ferruk, and rapped his weapon on the other door. A Vrykul led the dreadcaller out. 'Look, Ferruk. Baalmaat can make her yours. She'll never leave you. She'll love you for eternity.

'All you have to do, Ferruk, is capture her, and Baalmaat will take care of the rest. Imagine it, Ferruk. The rest of eternity, every night as sweet as last night.'

Aloud, Keleseth told the party, "Perhaps you know this man? I would venture to say you do, by the looks on your faces." He chuckled. "Oh, never mind, I already knew you know him. He came to me quite willingly, you know. You chased him away, and I took him in. Poor fellow."

"You lie!" Nerissa shouted, and the others were forced to hold her back.

"Careful, Nerissa. That's not the Ferruk we know," Whitecrow cautioned her. "We have no idea what happened, we can't make any assumptions."

Nerissa gasped. "How could you dare say such a thing? You should know him even better than I do, and I know beyond all doubt that Ferruk did not go to this… this… monster willingly!" She trembled as she yanked free of Whitecrow's hands.

"Oh," said Keleseth, "but you're wrong." He was lying, of course, but that was half the fun! "The elements had abandoned him. His friends had chased him away, not even trying to understand him. I offered him Power, Power beyond his wildest dreams. Power that will last forever. Very few could resist such an offer."

"Ferruk doesn't want Power," Nerissa snapped. "He cares about his friends, he cares about doing the honorable thing, and he cares about doing his duty and protecting those who can't protect themselves. He doesn't need the Elements to fight for what he knows is right!"

The words lashed at Ferruk, despite the demonic corruption in his blood. But he subjugated the impulse. The Master would surely not be pleased by such thoughts, and that was the only source from which he could get the sweet nectar that now sustained him.

Keleseth laughed, "You really think so? You really think that he cares about duty and honor above Power? Any man will choose Power if he can get it. Ferruk has gone from an ordinary, uninteresting, average orc, to a mighty force to be reckoned with. And all that, without the aid of the vaunted Elements."

It was Whitecrow who spoke next, "Ferruk, my friend, I'm sorry about what happened between us. It doesn't have to be like this. You can free yourself from him. You can come back. We're all your friends, we all care about you. You're my brother, and I love you."

Keleseth sensed something shifting in Ferruk, and rushed to repair it. Ferruk heard his voice whispering again, 'Oh, yes, he wants you to come back. He wants you to see him ravage her. He wants to take her right in front of you, Ferruk.'

Ferruk snarled. It was true. He'd watched them hug, and hold hands, and… no. He wouldn't fall for Whitecrow's honeyed words. Brother. Some brother who would try to take the woman his brother loved away from him. Whitecrow was a traitor, a selfish and arrogant cow full of bluff and poppycock.

As he stepped forward, his eyes caught Nerissa's. The memory of the dream Keleseth had induced them to share the night before burned brightly in his mind. Keleseth had set the scene to be fancy and gentlemanly and hoity toity. But Nerissa had seen through it, and Keleseth had been forced to allow Ferruk to take over. To be himself.

She'd chosen him, the real him, unadulterated by Keleseth's attempted meddling. A ferocious glee rose within him, and he realized that he had to have her. The demonic taint in his blood thrilled, 'Make her yours, Ferruk. Take her! Claim her! Own her! She wants you…'

Ferruk stepped forward again, then again. He walked towards her, until Whitecrow stepped in front of her, his shield and axe held up. "You won't hurt her, Ferruk. I won't allow it."

Ferruk laughed, "I have no intention of hurting her, Whitecrow. I'm going to marry her, and then we're going to live forever, together."

He kept going, picking up momentum now. "You won't," Whitecrow said, "because I won't let you taint her with demon blood. That's the only way you can live forever, and none of us will allow it."

Malovici and Nantu had stepped up beside him, the three of them making a protective barrier between him and the target of his lust. "Don't fool with me," Ferruk said, "you have no idea just how truly powerful I have become."

"Oh, you're wrong there, Ferruk. But that doesn't change anything. We won't allow it. We'd rather not kill you, but we will if we have to. You're no longer the man you were, I know that. But if there's any vestige of him left inside you, you'll know that not a single one of us will willingly surrender to demon blood. Not even Nerissa, not even for you."

Ferruk shrugged. "She doesn't have to surrender. It would be easier for her if she did, but it won't change anything at all." He looked past Whitecrow then, "Come with me, Nerissa. Live with me forever. Be at my side for eternity. The blood is a small price to pay to be with the one you love forever, and never see them die."

He couldn't believe it when she shook her head. "I would live forever with you, but not with what you are now. It's the real Ferruk I love, not what I see before me."

He paused. He was angry, yet something else. Something stirred again deep within him. Something insidious and strong. Keleseth's voice dispelled it, 'She just doesn't understand, Ferruk. You have to help her understand. There's only one way to do that. She must taste Baalmaat's blood.'

"You will understand soon enough, Nerissa. When you do, you'll wonder how you could have ever hesitated," Ferruk told her. "It's sweet, it's like the sweetest sugar. Only… only brighter and sharper. I was weak. Now I know true strength."

She shook her head. "I won't do it, Ferruk. You don't have to do this. We can leave this place forever."

"Leave?" Ferruk said incredulously. "Leave? Why would I want to leave? I can't imagine what could possibly motivate me to do that? You would ask me to give up all of this? Power, strength, control… all of it? For what? For you?"

"For me, Ferruk, and for you. For duty, for honor, for the Elements. For all the things and people that you truly care about," Nerissa said.

Ferruk's face twisted, "You want to take it all away from me, just like Whitecrow wanted to take you away. I see that he has succeeded. Very well, then, so be it."

Ferruk pulled his maces out, and stepped forward. "I will show you the real meaning of Power."

* * *

Chalisse stopped and looked around. What was that thing? It radiated power, enough to bring her a measure of stability. It was hidden slightly behind a topiary. She noticed that even her guards, following as always a discreet distance behind her, weren't paying attention to her.

Surreptitiously, she began to siphon Power out of the crystalline object. She didn't pick it up, or respond to it in any other way, simply siphoning energy from it while her guards chatted with each other. When she was sated, she prepared to move on.

But there was still power glowing inside the power core she'd stumbled upon. And if she took it with her, she could allay suspicion that much longer. She looked at the guards again, and then stepped towards it.

When she picked it up, there was a sudden flash, a deep boom, and then black silence. Stunned, she stood in slack-jawed surprise as her guards ran towards her. She couldn't see them, couldn't see anything. She couldn't respond or even hear them as they shouted.

Suddenly, the two guards were dead, killed by the city guards—who had been paid off for exactly that purpose by Quardis.

Tarisseil walked up and stood over his quarry, a thrill of triumph running through his body. Quickly, he bound her and threw her over his shoulder. He activated the portal device he carried, and the device disintegrated immediately. It had taken tremendous wealth to purchase the single-use portal, and he wouldn't waste it.

He stepped through it, into Quardis' livingroom. There, he deposited Chalisse on a comfortable chair. Untying her, he sent for some food and drink.

She awakened slowly, taking in her surroundings. Behind her was the portal he'd used, now looking back on the location he'd taken her from. It was now invisible from the other side, usable only from this side. She couldn't see it yet, but started to look around. As soon as she did, Tarisseil distracted her by walking towards the double doors that looked out onto the veranda.

"Hello, Chalisse," Tarisseil said to her. "I do hope you're not in too much discomfort."

She scowled at him, and he thought absently that she looked slightly older when she scowled. It certainly wasn't a pretty expression, and most Sin'Dorei were far more aware of what expressions they made. Ah, well, she had sunk into a terrible malaise of addiction; there were probably a great many things she couldn't be bothered with now.

"What do you want?" she snarled—definitely not a pretty picture.

He opened the doors, letting the sweet breeze of Silvermoon carry the scent of lilacs into the room. It was a sweet, heady scent, and the breeze that carried it blew his hair back comfortably before it softened to the merest caress of air.

"Do have something to eat, won't you?" he asked. "You're going to be here for a very long time." Depending, of course, upon one's perspective. He didn't tell her that, but knew it to be very true.

Her scowl only deepened, "Why should I trust you and eat anything you have to offer?"

He shrugged, "Well, I can't say that I blame you, I don't think I'd trust me, if I were you, either."

He reached down and took one of the rolls off of the plate. "But, really, you ought to try this. It's called 'butter,' and I believe it's a human invention. Very rare and hard to get." He scraped some of the creamy yellow substance onto his roll and took a bite.

He offered it to her, and she looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then took a roll and buttered it. Biting into it delicately, her face lit up with surprise. "That's really good!" she told him. "Marvelous! I must get my own!"

He nodded as the breeze from the veranda picked up again, tossing his long blond hair once more, "Delightful, isn't it? I can't believe it's not sour goat cheese!" He beamed at her as if delighted that she'd tried it.

She finished eating the roll, obviously relaxing more in his presence, perhaps disarmed by his handsome countenance and charm (if he did think so himself). Taking a drink of her wine, she reached for another roll, but started to choke instead. He reached over and patted her on the back, "There, there, now. Just relax. It will all be over soon.

"You see, the butter wasn't poisoned—it's too expensive for that. It was the roll that was poisoned. When you drank your wine, it reacted with what was in the bread, and now you're dying."

He continued to munch on his roll, tossing her wine into the fireplace and grinning at her as she fell over, frothing at the mouth and twitching absurdly. When her struggles ceased, he checked her pulse. There was none.

He rang the bell at the doorway, and Quardis entered the room. "Well?" he snapped.

"She's dead as anyone will ever be," Tarisseil replied.

"Excellent. My men are in place, and the final bribes are done. Throw her back through."

Tarisseil did just that, and the portal disappeared for good. "Disgusting business, all in all," he told Quardis, feeling a bit bolder than usual, since Quardis seemed to be in high spirits.

"Yes," Quardis said dryly. "But I do appreciate your assassin not caring if she was delivered to him dead or alive. I must confess, though, the fact that he preferred she was dead both sweetened the deal, and arouses my curiosity. Oh well, who knows what kind of bizarre fetishes the undead have."

Tarisseil shrugged. "They'll give you her body instead of giving it to the family?"

"Yes. That was the easiest part to finagle. They don't want to have to pay for the storage until funerary can be arranged. It's a Horde regulation that doesn't sit too well with the Counsel." Quardis shrugged, "Which is fine with me, it works in my favor. I like things that work in my favor."

Tarisseil managed not to respond to that one, by sheer dint of will—and fear. Everyone knew perfectly well just how much Quardis hated anything that did not work in his favor, that much was for certain.

On the other side of the city, Chalisse's body was recovered, and a minor dignitary was appointed to inform Dalaran that the criminal had not only been apprehended, but had been found dead. She had been killed by her addiction to Power, was the official story. A story, of course, which held a tremendous portion of truth.

Her body was shoved in a box and delivered quietly, without fanfare or even notice, to one Quardis Del'Narik. From there, she was dumped in the basement, to be forgotten until it was time to pay the price demanded by Valorin Ebbtide.

* * *

Whitecrow didn't wait for Ferruk to reach him. He zipped across the room towards him, meeting his oncoming rush halfway. He slammed his mammoth shield into Ferruk's face, drawing blood at the corner of his mouth where the skin split over a tusk. Ferruk laughed, tasting the blood, and feeling a thrill run through him, despite the fact that the blood was his own.

Ferruk's mace swished through the air towards Whitecrow's head, and Whitecrow jerked backwards just in time to avoid it. His axe flew through the air, connecting with Ferruk's shoulder, biting into the mail armor there, but doing little more than that. Ferruk swung again, and this time his mace connected with the bottom of Whitecrow's muzzle.

Blood arced through the air, a mosaic in red, suspended for a moment in time, before the fight continued. Whitecrow's growl of pain was met by another demonic laugh from Ferruk. Nantu's Heal washed over Whitecrow, and Ferruk's smirk turned to a look of sheer rage. He started towards Nantu, only to be stunned as she slashed him with a blazing line of lightning.

His eyes narrowed and rage filled him. She had changed, too. The ever-gentle Nantu was using damaging magic? And against him? He charged at her, running towards her and ignoring even the magically compelling taunting coming from Whitecrow. In two powerful blows, he knocked her unconscious, and then knocked her across the room and against the wall. She slid down the wall and lay crumpled in a pile beside a massive support beam.

He turned his attention back to Whitecrow, only to be met by a slash from Nerissa's sword that cut deeply into his left shoulder. The demon blood in his own rushed to begin repairs, and he watched it for a moment, purposely drawing her attention to how swiftly he healed from her assault.

Then, he turned back to Whitecrow yet again. He was going to take care of the man once and for all. He stalked forward, his entire focus on Whitecrow. He ignored entirely the damage that Nerissa was inflicting on him, which was healing almost as fast as she was dealing it.

But alas, his progress was once more slowed. This time, it was Malovici, who literally used his daggers to climb up Ferruk's back, then wrapped his legs around Ferruk's middle, and snapped a fine wire around his neck. Ferruk was being strangled before he even realized Malovici was there.

Stumbling, Ferruk tried to dislodge Malovici, reaching over his head. His movements were hindered, though, by Nerissa's continued assaults, and the fact that Whitecrow had once more reached him… again stunning him with the force of his arrival. He felt darkness starting to fall over him, and staggered to gain purchase by leaning against the wall.

Stumbling backwards, he slammed bodily into one of the Vrykul's gargantuan weapons racks. Malovici was trapped between the deadly weapons, and the deadly orc—himself a weapon. As Ferruk began to lose consciousness and topple forward, the weapons rack, tangled in Malovici's armor, tumbled forwards with the pair.

Ferruk was slammed bodily free, painfully jerking the wire against his throat for an instant before it yanked free from Malovici's grip. Ferruk was free, and Malovici was trapped under the weapons rack. For a moment, Ferruk fought for breath as Whitecrow and Nerissa continued to hack at him.

It wasn't long before he was recovered, though, and he stood up, swinging both weapons. He knocked Nerissa away, still loathe to hurt her. She stumbled, but came back towards him. Whitecrow was his focus, and it was he that Ferruk fully intended to end this day. The two paired off now, orc facing tauren—bull facing bull.

Like any bullfight, it was a dangerous place for anyone to be right in that moment.

Ferruk lunged with his maces, swinging both at once, in converging arcs. They came down with a resounding crash on each side of Whitecrow's head. Whitecrow staggered, shaking his head, trying to clear it from the pain and the sound that still seemed to be ringing there.

Nerissa slashed at his back. Ferruk ignored her. She was doing a lot of damage, and doing it fast, but he knew that all he needed to do was to capture her, and they would be unstoppable together.

But first, Whitecrow had to die. Ferruk's single-minded and dogged pursuit of Whitecrow narrowed even further. He dodged as Whitecrow's axe slashed at him, though unfortunately, he wasn't able to deflect the entire blow—and took a good portion of damage on the left cheek.

Once more, blood blazed through the air, hot lava poured into the bullring. They snorted and shook their heads, facing off again. Ferruk's glowing red eyes narrowed as they met the liquid brown ones of Whitecrow, now outlined in glaring white. Ferruk's massive frame paid little notice to the damage coming from the rear, as he moved once more forwards towards Whitecrow.

Whitecrow didn't wait. He lunged forward, feinting with the axe, before using the shield like a battering ram to slam powerfully into Ferruk's jaw, snapping the orc's head backwards like a child's doll. He lunged again, but lost footing on the drops of blood on the ground. Ferruk pressed his advantage, and landed five powerful, painful blows in rapid succession.

Whitecrow felt darkness pressing on him, and despair followed in its boiling wake. If only Nantu would wake up. If only Malovici could get free. If only Nerissa's Power weren't nearly gone. If only…

If only.

Whitecrow's axe shattered the air as it zinged towards Ferruk's head. Ferruk turned it aside easily. "You're failing, Whitecrow. You're weak, you're pathetic, and you've lost."

Whitecrow heard it as he slouched forward, and then he heard nothing more as Ferruk's mace slammed into his face, breaking his muzzle and sending him into oblivion.

Ferruk realized that Whitecrow was also out of the fight, and could be fully dispatched at his leisure. He turned on Nerissa then. "What are you going to do, Nerissa, kill me?"

"Yes," she replied, her sword slashing once more at him. Ferruk deflected it, and slammed a mace into her midsection. The plate armor there caved in, and she was knocked backwards.

"I thought you loved me," Ferruk said. "A lie just to get what you want, wasn't it, Nerissa?"

"I don't love you, you're right. You're a monster. You're nothing like the good man I fell in love with, and you have to die so that others can live," she told him, and slashed into his mail. He was really starting to hurt now, and he wasn't pleased with that fact at all.

He used the butt of his mace to slam into one of her arms, gratified when it broke with a harsh snapping sound. But some part of him that he couldn't quite grasp shrieked at his action. He was attacking his friends! He was attacking Nerissa!

He hesitated. Keleseth urged him onwards, 'Take her, Ferruk. She will be healed by Baalmaat's blood. The harm is temporary, compared to an eternity at your side!'

But Ferruk still hesitated. He dodged her next attack easily, as she was barely able to lift the sword one-handed. He finally knocked the sword flying completely, and hit her again, this time in the head. She staggered, and fell.

Ferruk roared in triumph. He had bested his enemies. He had won. She was his now. Now and forever—his.

He rolled her over, and there was blood running out of her nose and dribbling from her mouth. She was dying, probably quickly. She looked into his eyes, without fear, without regret. There was only sadness there—sadness… and love.

This was what all his power and strength had bought.

'You must hurry!' Keleseth urged in his mind. 'Let Baalmaat give her his blood, before you lose her forever!'

Valorin watched the brutal fight from the entryway. He considered intervening, but once he did so, his presence would be revealed, and there would be no way he could ever get the woman. Moments later, he again considered intervening when Ferruk turned on Nerissa, but the fight ended too quickly, and he crept back to the entryway.

He could tell by just looking at her that she was dying. Blood was running from her nose, a clear sign of brain trauma. There were other signs as well, and he felt frustrating rise in him. If she died, he would likely never, ever, get the great prize for which he had worked since the moment of his unholy rebirth as a Forsaken.

There was an intense frustration rising in him as he watched. He could steal her now by using a trick he had of stealing a man's will to act for a few moments. The problem was, he couldn't save her. Even if he could get her, she would still be dying. Only the shamaness could save her, and the troll lay unconscious against the wall.

He felt a coldness settle into him. All his life for it to end like this. No outward sign of his wrath showed, but it boiled and bellowed inside of him.

Just as he was about to go in and start killing the party off so that he would only have to contend with the shamaness and his prey, all hell broke loose again.


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16

Ferruk was frozen as he stared into the brilliant green eyes. She had changed, he realized, and the way she'd changed was very specific. The potential he'd seen in her was no longer potential, it was realized in her. She was whole, united in purpose and grown into the fullness of herself as a person.

And she was dying. His fault. His actions had led to this. This beautiful, self-realized woman that was so incredible and so beautiful, was dying because of him.

She reached up to him then, and her hand slipped up his jaw, along his cheek, and up to where the tip of his ear was missing. The words he'd said echoed in his mind, _'Heal it the way it is. It will remind me of who my real friends are for the rest of my life.'_

"I love you, Ferruk." As she said it, the glow in her eyes dimmed, and her hand fell away. He laid her down and watched her eyes slowly close, the lids drifting slowly as if they were too tired to find their way.

Something rose inside him. The part he'd forgotten, the part Keleseth had ignored… it stirred and woke. And when it woke, it wasn't the slow, ponderous waking most people experience upon realizing it's morning.

No, it woke with a righteous fury. It burst forth from the place where it lay dormant, and it came imbued with all the Power of a lifetime of devoted service to the spiritual lives of an entire tribe of orcs. It surged, and with it came the racial memory of the orcs. Memories of honor, of glory, of addiction and the fortitude it took to break free of it.

This part of him was fully endowed with all the pain and suffering and misery of his people's long and colorful history. It came endowed with all the orcs who had come before, who had committed atrocities, who had fallen in glorious battle, who had lived and died for honor and duty, who had loved.

It came alive in that moment as Ferruk remembered that these were his friends, his loved ones, as much his clan and tribe as his own people. It roared to furious and frightful wakefulness as he called upon it with the final ounce of Ferruk that was left within the demonic terror that he had become.

And to that part of him, he acknowledged his part in it all. He acknowledged it, and he forgave himself for it. In that moment he understood that it was his nature, not some part of him to root out and destroy. That while it could hurt or harm, that same nature could love with the most unspeakable, deep love that could possibly exist.

He rose to his feet, and he turned on his 'master.' In that moment, he also grew into the fullness of himself. He took ownership of who and what he really was. He was an orc, with all that being an orc entailed. Frenzy, fury, jealousy, joy, love, hope. All of it, from the darkest to the brightest.

Throwing back his head, he let loose a roar that shook the timbers of the massive chamber, and echoed up the hallways. Many rooms away, Vrykul lifted their heads from their work or their conversations, and trembled at the open menace in the echoing roar that greeted their ears. A warning, and an inherent promise of death.

At Keleseth's command, Baalmaat rushed to protect him. Ferruk picked up the demon, and with one motion, ripped him apart. Demonic blood geysered, spraying around them in a brilliant red rainbow of sparkling rubies. He didn't even pause as he threw each half across the room.

Then he ran across the room, flashing as swiftly as the fastest warrior or rogue ever moved. He slammed into Keleseth, knocking him into the wall. Ferruk roared again, and charged into Keleseth again, his weapons momentarily forgotten as he dropped them and bodily grabbed his former master, throwing him into the air like a rag doll.

As Keleseth dropped again, he was no longer caught off guard, and dodged Ferruk's fist as it swung towards him. Ferruk snapped up the discarded weapons, and ignored the pain of the blisteringly cold spell that Keleseth cast on him.

"Will you die for them, then?" Keleseth asked. "Will you give up eternal life with more power than any mortal will ever know, for… for them?"

Ferruk stopped, facing Keleseth. He didn't even have to think about it anymore. "Yes, I will die for them. If not today, someday."

Ferruk heard a roaring in his ears, but shook it off. He had to focus, he had to concentrate. He swung his maces, and the roaring grew louder. He was seared by yet another powerful bolt of magic, staggering as it drove through him.

The roaring was louder now, blowing his hair and making him stagger. Keleseth staggered as well, looking around in confusion.

The chamber seemed to have come alive, a powerful wind blowing through it with incredible speed and power. It was as if a hurricane had loosed itself therein. Ferruk glanced towards Nantu, but the troll lay still unconscious.

Without warning, Ferruk was enveloped in fire—fire that didn't originate with his opponent. He literally shrieked in agony as it burned through him. The wind lifted him, and suddenly he felt his arms and legs held firmly in place, through the haze of pain that burned through him. Rain lashed his face, becoming steam upon contact.

Suddenly, he heard a new voice in his head, 'You have been tested, Ferruk. You are worthy.'

'Tested,' echoed a watery voice.

'Worthy' burned the fire that blazed in his veins.

'Tested and worthy,' whispered the wind.

'Yes,' agreed the wild.

'Passed the test,' murmured the earth element, resonating through his entire body.

'Be freed,' they whispered together. He was lowered, until his feet touched the ground, but barely. The fire's pain was decreasing now.

'May I?' asked the watery voice. Confused, but trusting the elements, Ferruk gave his mental permission.

His body, for a moment, was no longer his own. The water took him over. It drew from his Power, and words not his own escaped his lips. A great wave of water flashed across the chamber, and blasted into the weapons rack that held Malovici prisoner. With a surge, he was on his feet.

'May I?' asked the wild. Ferruk agreed.

His body was once more not his own, and suddenly, he chanted again, ignoring the bolt of magic that struck him from Keleseth. The wild washed over Nantu and Whitecrow, who surged to their feet.

To Ferruk's indescribable joy, Nerissa staggered, but managed to rise as well. Another Heal and she was standing dazed but fully restored. He nearly sobbed from the intense emotions that slammed through him as she rose. He had thought she was dead. He had thought he had killed her. She was alive, and whole again!

One by one, the elements petitioned him, and humbly, he accepted their gifts with overwhelming gratitude.

It was over in a matter of moments, and the other four rushed across the room to join him against Keleseth. But fundamental things had altered. This time, it was Nantu whose magic flayed Keleseth, and it was Ferruk who Healed the party. Nantu now understood that sometimes death was necessary to preserve life.

And Ferruk had come to realize that there was a profound beauty in preserving life that went beyond his lust for blood and glory. That, of course, didn't prevent him from giving the others the gift of bloodlust. After all, sometimes preserving one life took ending another…

Soon, they had accomplished just that. Together again, whole and reunited, they killed Keleseth swiftly, even easily.

Afterwards, Ferruk fought back the rising tide of emotions as he was welcomed back by each of them in turn. The last was Nerissa, and he looked at her, unsure as to what her response to him would be. She came to him without a word, and pulled him down to her. They kissed, a long, deep kiss, ignoring everything, and everyone around them.

Whitecrow said, "The lost one is restored, the treasures reunited." He beamed. From his point of view, the two were both dear friends—treasures, as it were.

Malovici, sewing on a part of his thigh that had been sliced off by one of the weapons in the rack (he hoped, nobody wants to be part Vrykul, after all), asked, "Didn't someone say the elements had abandoned Ferruk?"

Nantu nodded, and she and Whitecrow looked at him askance. "Why?"

"A life restored approaches immortality," Malovici said. "The fire may have washed away the bulk of it, but his pupils are still red. He'll live a very long time thanks to the taint of demon blood."

* * *

Valorin watched them as the fight ended. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the group. It seemed as if the longer he watched them, the more impressed he became. Whatever had just happened, it had restored the group within moments. All of them alive, whole, even seeming to be better than before the whole incident here had happened.

He didn't know who the orc was, but it was clear that he was someone of importance to the group. He was also quite powerful, that much was clear from the Healing he had done, the spells he had cast before that, and the power of his brutal physical assaults. It would not do to tangle with that fellow at any time, for any reason.

In fact, he nearly scrapped the mission as he watched. The fellow's eyes were still red, though they no longer glowed with the uncanny fervor they'd had before he killed the high elf.

Something was very off here, the whole thing seemed somehow well beyond his area of understanding. It was as if forces were at work here that he simply couldn't fathom, and he didn't like the feeling one bit.

He continued to watch the group, weighing his options. The orc knelt down in front of the female elf Valorin was stalking, and she cried and fell into his arms. All very touching, surely, but not really helpful from Valorin's point of view. When they let go of each other again, the troll woman held a ceremony for them that even Valorin could recognize as a wedding ceremony.

Again, touching, really (probably). But not the opening that Valorin needed. He was starting to feel a bit put upon by the whole show. Couldn't they get a move on already? They would have to sleep again at some point, and he hoped that their Deathstalker would make a mistake this time.

He was, after all, a human-descended Forsaken, he couldn't be perfect all the time. Had he not been undead, Valorin would have recognized that he was being smug. But he was undead, and as such, felt it was simply a point of fact. Elven-descended Forsaken were superior, in his mind, and that was that.

The Deathstalker would make a mistake, it was only a matter of time—something Valorin didn't have a lot of.

He went back to waiting as the troll droned on, and the pair gave their responses. Then the group all cheered, and they left the large chamber. Valorin circled the room, preparing to follow, when the most unbelievably perfect thing happened. Something so perfect, so propitious that Valorin almost shouted in glee. Almost.

His target came back into the room alone to look over the corpse of the high elf they'd killed. And he was only feet away from her.

He snuck the few feet between them, glad that his heart no longer beat, for it surely would have given him away in his excitement. With a single movement, he rendered her stunned and unable to move. He bound her with uncanny speed, gagging her as well. Throwing her over his shoulder, he first dashed across the massive chamber and down the hallway the way they'd come in. Then he activated a potion that gave him another burst of speed after even his undead muscles complained at the pace.

By that time, they had left the rest of the party far behind. He couldn't believe his good fortune, neither could he believe that the group had made such a terrible, foolish mistake. No matter, he had her now, and there was no way they could catch up to him, until he left the Keep. Even then, however, the likelihood was great that they would look for him in the wrong place.

Moving constantly, he left the keep, and traveled swiftly towards Kamagua, home of the walrus-like race, the Tuskars. From there, he would board a ship specifically sent for the purpose by the man who had commissioned him. A small vessel, certainly, but up to the task of carrying him and his precious cargo back to Eversong Woods.

Where he would turn her over, and claim his long-awaited prize.

* * *

Ferruk waited for Nerissa to come back. The argument, however brief, over her not going alone, had been lost. It had been him against the other four, who insisted that she'd gained enough ability to stick up for herself long enough for them to catch up to her. Besides, she could render herself invulnerable for a few seconds anyway.

There wasn't anyone else within miles, most likely, except for Vrykul and drakes, to top it off.

She was still fine, he could sense that much. But he was uneasy. It shouldn't have taken this long. He still felt unsure and insecure in his newly restored powers, but he couldn't shake the ominous feeling that kept prickling at his mind. For long moments, he stood torn in his indecision, and then, waving away the protests of the others that he was showing a decided lack of trust in her abilities, he went back for her.

It was his job to protect her. She was in danger. He shouldn't have let her be by herself regardless of her abil—

She wasn't there. Blood everywhere, but no Nerissa.

He roared, shouting his pain to the universe at large. The others came running.

She wasn't there. Corpses and Ferruk, but no Nerissa.

They stared at him in shock as if it were somehow related to him being there that she was gone. "What…?" Whitecrow started, but didn't complete the thought. Malovici was inspecting the area.

"A rogue," Malovici said after a few seconds, pointing to footprints in the cold blood surrounding Keleseth's body. "Here, he sneaks up behind her, there's no struggle. He picks her up and dashes towards the corridor." Malovici's bone finger pointed off down the hall that the other rogue had taken with his prisoner.

"He didn't even try to mask what he did," Malovici said. "He's either confident that we can't catch up to him, or he's confident that he can't be tracked to where he's going. Or he plain screwed up by tipping his hand and showing himself in such a manner."

Ferruk wasn't listening. He didn't care. "Why didn't he just kill her?"

They blinked at him in surprise. Apparently the idea hadn't occurred to anyone else. "Maybe he knew it would be too difficult?" Whitecrow asked, his voice unsure.

"It wouldn't be that difficult, really, since he killed what would equal almost an entire garrison in their bedrolls, right beside each other. I can't believe that he couldn't kill one woman who wasn't expecting him," Ferruk said. "If it's the same person, he or she is clearly an elite, specially-trained assassin, and any form of incompetence from him would surprise me."

"Why didn't you tell us about that?" Whitecrow nearly shouted it, his shoulders heaving in anger.

"Well, when would I have done that? As much as I'd love to have just put aside the whole demon-possessed thing and chattered about that instead, it just didn't seem to work out that way," Ferruk snapped back.

"Seemed like you had plenty of time to waste on getting married and all that lovey shit," Whitecrow accused him.

"That's right. I got married, and I'd fucking do it again in a heartbeat. I didn't know she was going to go wandering off by herself. Granted, I have no one to blame but myself for that one, for listening to you—"

Ferruk's words were cut off mid-sentence as Nantu interrupted, "Not gonna git 'er back standin' round arguin' and turnin' each other inta en'mies."

Ferruk and Whitecrow glared for a few minutes longer, before Ferruk said, "Nantu's right. I'm sorry, old friend. I was wrong, I should have told you sooner. I got caught up and forgot about it."

Whitecrow's posture eased, "Nah, I shouldn't have let her go, you were right to warn against it. I guess I forgot there was more danger here than just Keleseth, and you," he grinned at the last words, and Ferruk winced wryly.

"I'm not sure that's a compliment," Ferruk said.

"It wasn't," Whitecrow laughed, the rolling chuckle resonating out of his chest.

Ferruk returned to the topic at hand. "Why didn't he kill her?"

The others shook their heads. It didn't make logical sense. They all knew that Chalisse wanted Nerissa dead, so the smartest way to accomplish that was swiftly and cleanly. So why was she still alive?

_Nerissa?_ Ferruk tried to call to her mentally. _Are you there? Are you okay?_

There was no response. The only conclusions he could take from that was that she was dead, unconscious, or had a magic-preventing patch on her somewhere. These were mostly left to law enforcement brigades and slavers, but criminals of many sorts could get their hands on them quite easily as well. It was impossible to know which prevented their communication from simply that attempt to communicate with her. He would have to wait and see.

It seemed most likely, though, that there was some sort of magic prevention in place, because they couldn't even pinpoint her through their attunement.

In the meantime, there was another problem… the fact that they had to deal with Ingvar the Terrible. When Ferruk said as much, the spirits of the party visibly fell.

They really had no choice. As with Ferruk earlier, they couldn't leave the fate of the entire area to the death and destruction of the Scourge simply on behalf of a single person. Not even Nerissa.

Nor, as Nantu, Whitecrow, and Malovici were keenly aware from the earlier discussion, would she thank them if they decided to do so. Therefore, there was nothing left for them but to press on. They tried to move quickly, working their way deeper into the Keep, the place seeming to become darker, and ever more gloomy, the deeper they went.

In the meantime, Nerissa was getting farther and farther away from them. The group's blood ran cold when their magical attunement to her was abruptly severed without warning. They paused and looked at each other for a moment, before turning resolutely onward.

They could only hope against all the evidence that she was still alive and whole. They could no longer sense her, so even that reassurance, however slight it had been, was gone.

* * *

Valorin kept going all the way out of the keep. Then he called for his mount and the transport animal as well. Just as he had planned it, both were undead horses, so that they would be able to keep moving as long as the undead could. They needed neither sleep, nor sustenance so long as they remained uninjured.

As far as the woman went, Valorin was unconcerned about her need for sleep. When it got great enough, she would sleep in the saddle. It wasn't something she would die from, and thus he didn't care about it. Before mounting, he retied her so that she was straddling the horse properly, but well tied and unable to escape or fall off.

He then slapped a magical restraining band across her mouth, so that she couldn't use any magic, and so that her attunement with those left behind would be ended. This was necessary, of course, to make her untrackable.

He cared not at all about the glare she turned on him, nor the fact that her eyes bored relentlessly and hatefully into his back for hours as they rode.

The pace he set was grueling, even for him. With the goal of a lifetime of lifetimes in front of him, he couldn't stop, couldn't rest. He pushed himself, the animals, and her towards the waiting boat with all the determination of that entire lifetime of rage and resentment. Every century of anger encouraged him forwards faster and faster.

He was distantly aware of the fact that she was probably hungry, sore, and exhausted. He didn't care. She wasn't dying, so it didn't matter. And really, the only reason that mattered at this point in time was because, if she were dead, he wouldn't get his prize. So they rode without cease or rest, the horses loping at a ground eating pace.

At some point, his prisoner slumped forward on her mount and slept that exhausted, unstoppable sleep of the sleep-deprived. He was pleased that he didn't need to stop and put her back on—his bindings held her there even as her body lost the ability to aid them.

They made the strange boat-like lift at the same time that, far behind them, the group of four engaged their first great obstacle on their way to Ingvar. They faced Dalronn the Controller and his minion while Nerissa sat sleeping as if dead upon the undead beast that carried her away from them.

* * *

They had spent a miserable, mostly sleepless night in the Keep, and now faced another perilous task. Valorin was unaware of what was going on behind him; he could only assume that they were searching for him and his prisoner. As such, he continued to push himself, her, and their animals as hard as he could.

Ferruk was exhausted. He had barely slept a wink that night, and now as they were facing the man who called himself Dalronn the Controller and his pet Vrykul, Ferruk was finding it difficult to concentrate. He nearly missed a couple of heals, and finally Whitecrow grumped at him.

"Pay attention to what you're doing, man!"

"Hell," Ferruk groused back, "I would, but I'm too busy holding my asscheeks together to keep this Vrykul from raping me! If you'd do your job and get him off of me…"

"Bah, stop whining, you're an orc, you can take a little Vrykul up your ass. It's not like he's a tauren," Whitecrow said.

As Dalronn and his (not so) little pet died, Ferruk told Whitecrow, "Shit, son, you wish you were half as hung as me, so you could be twice the man you are."

Malovici interrupted them, "Enough foreplay, you two, let's go." As he loped down the hall, he said, "Besides, I'll be nice and you can split my penis up between you for a while, then you'll both be twice the men you are right now."

Nantu sighed to the world at large, "Male bondin. Ain't it beautiful?"

Ferruk found the exchange very comforting. It was as if one part of his world was back to normal. Somehow, the typical, mundane posturing that he and the other two had engaged in so many times in the past made the situation seem less dire. In fact, it felt positively uplifting to regain some degree of that familiar camaraderie.

He followed in the wake of the others, and they continued to fight their way towards their final destination. Here, the challenge seemed greater for some reason. Perhaps because, as they all tried not to remind themselves, they were a person short. Perhaps because it was always more difficult here.

Maybe it was because Ferruk was still learning how to Heal, and Nantu learning how best to fight. The role reversal was new to them both, and both of them were finding it a bit awkward to adjust. Ferruk kept checking to see how the fight was going with regards to the enemy, and Nantu kept track of health and power even though she no longer really needed to.

Over all, they were slowed down by the greater challenge, all of them frustrated by the holdup. For each and every one of them, there was a degree of anxiety in the fact that Nerissa's kidnapper was getting only further ahead of them.

They had all grown more and more fond of her while she was with them. Even Malovici found himself pushing harder to get through the Keep, though he didn't dwell on thoughts of her as the others did.

Definitely not as much as Ferruk, who seemed unable to think of anything else.


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17

For most of the day, they pressed on. It was late afternoon when they faced their final quarry. There was a sense of dread, but also of relief. They felt it would be difficult with only the four of them, but they were also determined.

"We must use extra caution," Whitecrow said. "It's easy to get sloppy with the end within our grasp."

The others nodded. Sloppiness had already cost them dearly. They could ill afford another go around with it.

The fight ended quickly, even abruptly. Despite the fact that a Valkyrie had arrived to resurrect the fallen Ingvar, they made short work of him. They were each entirely head-in-the-game for the whole fight, anticipating the moment that they could move on and regain their lost companion.

None of them mentioned the fact that they'd already managed to fulfill the parts of the prophecy that allowed them to reunite with those lost. But every one of them wished that the prophecy had been just that much more specific. But they feared that they'd failed the last part of the prophecy entirely. They had not guarded what was precious.

At last, after what seemed an eternity, they had completed their duty. Ferruk decided to inform Anselm via post once they arrived at Dalaran—in but a few moments' time. They didn't even discuss it. Each of them began to mutter a lengthy incantation. Within their bags, bright white and blue egg shaped stones began to glow brightly.

One by one, they vanished, leaving only silence and empty space where they had once stood. Within moments, the open platform where they had fought Ingvar was left with only the wind and a single blowing leaf to drift across it. Blood cooled in the chill air, the evil taint left behind slowly dissipating in the breeze.

Once in Dalaran, the party swiftly stocked up on provisions again, unsure as to what the future might hold. They were preparing to leave for Silvermoon when a gnome named Alec stopped them. "Are you Ferruk Firecaller?" he asked the orc.

Ferruk nodded, "Yup, who're you?" he queried as he looked down… down… down… at the gnome.

"Well," Arcanist Alec told Ferruk, "the woman you were escorting, Nerissa, has done a great deal to help out Dalaran's mages. We quite consider her to be an ally, in point of fact. As such, we have some information she might find helpful, and would like to pass it on to her. Where is she? Her father is here and is quite impatient to see her."

Ferruk's heart sank. In all the excitement, the panic, the distress, and the disorder of the last few days… he had lost sight of the fact that Nerissa's father was waiting for her here. He exchanged glances with the others, their faces speaking of the same sort of shocked forgetfulness that he felt.

Nerissa had become his family, and thus he had felt as if he had the sole claim to her well-being. Yet he was now reminded that her father loved her as well, that it was he in fact who had instigated the events that had led to Ferruk meeting her to begin with. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"It seems," Ferruk said slowly, "that she has been kidnapped."

"Seems?" the gnome asked incredulously. "Seems?" he asked again, his voice rising sharply in shock. "How, then, does it _seem_ so?"

Ferruk shifted uncomfortably. "Well…" he said slowly, "none of us actually saw her taken."

The gnome's arms folded. "It would _seem_," he said, stressing the last word, "that you have been slightly remiss in your duties, _Sir_." The stress on "Sir" only served to accent Ferruk's own feeling of failure.

He gritted his teeth, "Yes, so it would seem. So if you're quite done, we're off to go and get her back, as we have some idea where she might be."

"If you're speaking of her mother, she appears to have died a most peculiar and suspicious death," Alec told him. "Before that, she killed one of the justices in an attempt to prevent the divorce that Kel'Norat petitioned for. Apparently they were having illicit interactions. We have no idea who else might have been involved, or why she has died under suspicious circumstances. Rhonin has asked me to keep an eye out for you and bring you to him when you arrived."

"Very well, though we know who else is after her. We don't know why, but we do know who."

Alec's eyes studied Ferruk's face for a moment as he contemplated the words. "Very well, you should tell him when you see him."

They passed through the bustling streets of Dalaran, occasionally jostled by passersby. Eventually, they entered the cool interior of the Violet Citadel. Alec led them quickly up to one of the single biggest humans the party had ever seen. The massive man, who even towered over his exceptionally tall high elf wife, had hair like fire burning on the darkest night.

"Rhonin, may I present Ferruk and his companions?" Alec said diffidently.

Rhonin greeted them, and listened quietly as Alec informed him that they knew who else was involved in the whole sordid affair that surrounded the death of his dear friend George Cromwell.

"Well then," Rhonin inquired, "whom might this other party be?"

"Someone named Quardis, and the Silvermoon Champion, Vranesh," Ferruk told him.

Rhonin sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a 'whoosh.' "Vranesh, eh? That certainly complicates things significantly."

* * *

Valorin pulled Nerissa off of the boat, half tugging, half dragging her down the ramp to the ground. Five men on hawkstriders, one of them leading an extra, met him.

"Where's my payment?" he asked them.

Two of them moved up, a box held between them. They dumped it on the ground and backed off, and then another set a small chest on it. Valorin opened the chest, giving a cursory examination. It seemed to be in order. He didn't really care; by this point in his long lifetime, money was never a factor. He asked for it only because not doing so would be more suspicious than asking an exorbitant amount.

Then he opened the box beneath. As the lid lifted, he alone was unmoved by the stench that rose from it. He lifted the head of the body in the box, and began to laugh. He threw his head back and let his laughter roll out of him freely. It seemed he hadn't forgotten how to do it, after all.

Not waiting for the double-cross he was sure was on its way, he activated a single use scroll that teleported him many yards away from the suddenly confused group of men and sailors. It had cost him tremendous amounts of money, but it was worth it. He had what he wanted. Bringing the box and the chest with him, he muttered the incantation that would take him deep into the heart of Undercity.

The stone in his pack glowed, and he puffed away, leaving only a swirling wisp of green energy on the bright, tranquil shores of Eversong Forest.

Nerissa had been delivered to a life of elven intrigue. Chalisse had finally escaped it. And Valorin was about to complete the work to which he had dedicated his entire undeath.

Nerissa was tied to the hawkstrider, and the group of elves, unsurprised by the assassin's disappearance, headed for Silvermoon. Contrary to what Valorin thought, Quardis had never bothered with an ambush. He neither wanted to retrieve and thus have to deal with Chalisse's corpse, nor did he think that Valorin would be stupid enough to get caught in an ambush.

Not to mention the fact that Vranesh marrying Nerissa would recover what he had paid Valorin many, many thousands of times over—and more.

* * *

"I'm sure you can well imagine the difficulties that we face in dealing with Vranesh and Quardis, given Vranesh's unique status in Silvermoon," Rhonin told Kel'Norat as they all sat together in the public room of Kel'Norat's apartments in Dalaran.

"Indeed," Kel'Norat said, "the little prick no doubt gets away with murder, and I doubt that this will be anything different. I had thought that a divorce would rid me of Chalisse forever, and set Nerissa free. But if Vranesh has set his sights on her, it's fairly certain that she will be under a constant barrage of high-level attacks.

"I hesitate to bring it up, but I wonder if this party will be enough to protect her. Quardis' resources are significant. Mine are more extensive from a financial point of view, but his is extensive from the standpoint that he has a closer tie to the…" Kel'Norat paused, "seedier side, I suppose you'd say, of Silvermoon than I do."

"So what exactly are you telling us?" Malovici asked, "What are you trying to say?"

"Easy," Rhonin calmed the Deathstalker. "It's clear that the four of you have come to care about her well-being. We simply feel that some sort of assistance may be required to help you further along the way. We just don't know what we can do. Our hands are tied; really, we can't take any official steps within the confines of Silvermoon. Had any of these events taken place here, we could act, but what took place here has already been dealt with by the misfortune of Chalisse's death." His tone as he mentioned the 'misfortune' was anything but sorrowful.

"So we're on our own, basically?" Ferruk said dryly.

"Well, not entirely," Rhonin said. "We do have some items that might help you. We have a scroll of Passive Mind, which, while only a short duration spell, would render one of them helpless for a short time. The unfortunate part of it is that it can only be used when one feels calm, thus it would be wasted if you attempted to use it during battle or even confrontation. I don't know if it will be of use to you or not. If it isn't, please return it to us."

Arcanist Alec added, "I've also brought you a small trinket that will summon one of our elite mages to your side for a short duration. Although this may seem of little help, I hope that it might be enough to give you the edge you may need to rescue her."

"Something's bothering me about all this," Whitecrow said, "but it doesn't seem to be bothering you guys at all. Why didn't they kill her?"

"One of them will force her to marry him, and then they'll have performed a bloodless coup upon all the money I've made from Nerissa's fortune," Kel'Norat said matter-of-factly. "Then they'll kill her in a couple of years. She'll fall off a cliff or get killed by bandits where no bandits ever showed before."

The way he said it, as if it were perfectly normal, even reasonable, shocked and appalled the group. "Dat ain't gonna hap'n," Nantu said grimly. Everyone looked at her in surprise; she had been listening quietly, even passively the whole time. "Dun lookit me dat way. Troll men's been usin' wimmens fer cent'ries, mebby longer. Sellin' us and usin' us like we're cows or somesuch. It been since our alliance wit Thrall dat wimmens been able ta makes our own choices who we marry and who we doesn't. I dun been married ta som'un I didna wanna be. Ain't gonna let dat hap'n ta my frien'," she concluded.

The three men she'd traveled with for years stared at her in shock. Not one of them had ever considered the possibility she was even married, much less against her will or to someone she didn't want. It went contrary to everything they knew of her. Her cold, daring gaze turned them back to the business at hand with a clearing of the throat from Whitecrow.

"So," Whitecrow said, "I guess we'll have to go on our own, then?"

"Dalaran cannot act in any official capacity. Not even the Horde can. So if you go, it's as mercenaries." Rhonin was grim, regretful, but adamant.

"No," Ferruk told him as he stood up. "I'm going as her husband, and they're going as her friends. No one's marrying her, because she's already married."

Kel'Norat's jaw dropped as they left the room, but none of them stopped to acknowledge him. Rhonin and Ferruk shook hands as the group left, but that was all there was to it.

The group was at the portal moments later. One by one, they stepped through it and into the confines of the Spire at Silvermoon.

* * *

"Come now, Nerissa, be sensible," Quardis was saying to her as he sat on the arm of the chair she was sitting in, her hands bound in front of her. The long shadows outside had made their way into the room, the double doors hanging open still. "You really have no choice but to marry him. If you cooperate, we'll set you up with a lovely home out in Eversong Woods."

Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. "And if I don't?"

"Well," he said, "if you don't, then we'll just use you to force your father to sign the marriage papers. A few hours of watching you raped should convince him without too much difficulty," Quardis said coldly. "And it would be fun, too. For me, anyway."

"You're going to rape me anyway," she said.

"True," he told her. "So is Vranesh. But the differences are several. Firstly, we won't do it in front of your father. Secondly, we won't do it for hour after hour and hour if you cooperate. We'll let you rest in between and heal."

He stood up and walked over to the table, sitting in his chair and leaning back. He speared an apple with a knife and continued as he peeled it, "I can't honestly say that we're not cruel men, because well, we are. But, I can say that we do appreciate the hand that feeds us, and once you're married to Vranesh, that'll be you, of course. For a few years, at least, until the scandal dies down.

"Look on the bright side, though, by that time we'll have long since grown tired of you. Your pussy will no doubt have been worn out well before that time. If you cause us no fuss, we'll retire you in relative comfort. If you don't, well… we'll kill you."

"You'll kill me anyway," she snapped.

"No, really, it would be easier not to. It would draw too much attention and cost a lot in bribes to cover up your death. I do like to take the easy route when I can," he said in an earnest voice, as if he really wanted to convince her.

"It's too late, anyway," she said, "I'm not a virgin anymore, and I'm already married."

"Ah, yes, the makeshift, half-assed ceremony with the orc? I confess I didn't see that one coming, but when my man told me about it, I got a good laugh. Vranesh was incensed," he said, and laughed again. "That's not official, of course, so it doesn't matter. The orcs and trolls might honor it, but Silvermoon is all that really matters here. The horde isn't going to argue with an official ruling by our priests and Counsel, so I wouldn't get my hopes up about that rather amusing farce. And Vranesh isn't going to quibble about virginity."

His feet dropped to the floor. "Oh, and by the way, Estibeil over there will ensure that you cooperate one way or another. He's going to mind control you for me while the ceremony is completed, if you force me to do it that way. I'm rather hoping you will, it's been over a month since I got to really play with a woman. Excites me to think of you tied up and on your knees, shrieking in pain and begging me to stop.

"As for your friends, they'll never be able to infiltrate into here. I've paid off all the city guards, and I've hired what could only be considered an army of protectors. If your friends come for you, I guarantee they'll all die." He walked over and rang a bell. A young human woman entered the room. "This is Muriel. She'll help you get ready for your wedding to Vranesh. If you don't show up in the dress, with your hair properly coifed, I'll rape her in front of you. Many times, and in ways you can't begin to imagine."

He left then, and Muriel silently brought her a box from a bench at the end of the room. Inside it was an ornate cream-colored Netherweave dress. Tears slid from Muriel's eyes, and although Nerissa suspected that cooperating would change nothing for the woman, she did it anyway.

Perhaps she could put it off until Ferruk and the others arrived. "Ferruk will come for me," she told Muriel. Muriel just blinked at her and then pointed to a chair. She began to prepare Nerissa's hair in an elegant twist.

For her real wedding, the one that would live in her heart for as long as she lived, Nerissa had worn blood and armor and a sword. In the greatest stroke of irony, for the wedding she didn't want, she would wear the perfect dress with her hair in a perfect form.

The irony was not lost on her. The apparent beauty of the elven way of life, the surface perfection… and the rot it contained. While the surface appearance of the life she wanted was bloody, harsh, and difficult… but it contained true depth, true love, genuine hope, and principles of duty and honor and sacrifice that gave a person character.

Muriel left and Nerissa waited for whatever was to come next.

"Ferruk will come for me," she said into the empty room.

* * *

_Ferruk?_ came a soft voice in his head, masculine but quiet, as if distant and barely there. _I planned a little surprise for Quardis a couple of days ago. I paid off the guards that he had paid off. I didn't expect the situation as it is now, but I've informed them that you are my agents and are to be allowed to move freely through the city. You will meet with far less resistance than he intends for you to. You must still deal with his personal guards or mercenaries, though._

_Thank you, Rhonin,_ Ferruk responded, and then the agonizing pressure in his head was gone. He realized that it was most likely that Rhonin hadn't said anything in front of Kel'Norat because he didn't want to advertise that he was buying off the city guards. Good thinking, so far as Ferruk was concerned.

Quietly, he passed on the information to the others. They were pleased by this development, as was he. This gift was of far more value than the other two, and they made their way forward with much greater confidence. Ferruk briefly marveled at the expense, and then realized that Rhonin's intent was hidden within that aspect of it, and he had hoped Ferruk would ascertain it without him speaking it openly.

"I suspect strongly that Rhonin wants Quardis dead. Although Chalisse was the one that killed in Dalaran, I think that Rhonin feels Quardis was behind it in some way. From his perspective, given how much it must have cost to do this, I'm pretty sure that we're not here as Horde, mercenaries, or Nerissa's friends from his point of view, but as assassins." Ferruk explained his thought out loud to the others.

They all nodded at him, realizing the truth of what he was saying. They understood that either they wouldn't survive this confrontation, or Quardis wouldn't. Inherent in that was also the knowledge that Ferruk had shared that they couldn't kill Vranesh. He was too important in Silvermoon society, and therefore, they would have to find a different way to get their point across to him.

They rode quietly through the streets, shadows now stretching into infinity as the sun was cradled in its last wakeful moments of the day by the horizon. The city was quiet, as if already asleep. It was an uncanny quiet, undisturbed by even the sounds of insects or nesting birds.

Only the feet of their mounts made any sound at all, these sounding hollow and remorseful in their own right as they reverberated from the walls in insubstantial and tinny echoes. They passed the guards, who ignored them entirely, their smug elvish faces staring straight forward until the party reached the Walk of Elders, which had an entry into the well-hidden residential district.

There, to their surprise, the two guarding the gate there saluted them. One spoke softly, "We didn't need to be bribed to stand against Vranesh. If you have need of us, take this and blow it twice. We can only help you if you've gained entry to his inner sanctum, and then we can only help briefly." He tossed a small horn to Ferruk, and then both of the guards returned to their silent, unresponsive vigil, as if it had never happened and the group before them didn't exist.

Ferruk kept his voice low and quiet as well. "My thanks to you," was all he said, and the group turned and approached the gates to the residential district.

There, they met their first resistance. The man in the gatehouse asked them why they were, and what their business was in the residential area. Malovici, to the others' surprise, attempted to bribe him to let them through. The man sneered, "We don't accept bribes from outsiders, but now I know you have absolutely no business at all here. You may not pass."

The surprisingly portly elf (comparatively) crossed his arms arrogantly and looked at them smugly. Whitecrow stepped up beside him, and as the man tried to shut the door between them, grabbed it and held it open. "My friend's wife has been kidnapped and is being held in there. He's feeling more than a little bit testy. Give us the key."

"I don't have the key," the man said. "I am supposed to alert the man inside, and he unlocks the door from there."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to have my friend here turn you upside down and shake you, just to make sure," Whitecrow said, gesturing at Ferruk, who crossed his arms and snarled as ferociously as he could manage (which, since he's an orc, is pretty darned ferocious, I might add).

As Ferruk stepped towards him, the man suddenly held up the key, his pale elven face going even paler. "Oh, you mean this key?"

They tied him up, and slowly snuck into the darkened courtyard. They kept the key, as they knew the gatekeeper always had two anyway, and they wanted to leave at their own volition, not having to go through this mess with the gatekeeper again on the way out.

Malovici alone among them moved soundlessly and without leaving any telltale sign of his passing. He was very literally invisible in the gloom inside the gates. It was a bit odd, given the rest of the city, that there were few lanterns here, until one realized that most of the nobles that lived here would have arrived in carriages, well lit with their own lanterns and well guarded.

They approached the courtyard that opened off into the various noble houses, and easily located the Del'Narik residence… it was protected by a mob of rabble, and there was wedding finery to be seen past the gates. The mobs at the gate were an incredible number of humans, their stench wafting to the group from where they were. To Malovici, they were an angry red sea of warped and coagulated carcasses—living or not, they were unpleasant to view with his magical vision.

For a few moments, the group pondered how to proceed. Finally, Nantu lit upon the solution. "Huminz is easy ta scare, if'n ya do it right," she told the others. Then she pulled some grease out of her packs.

She started slathering it on Ferruk's armor, and he jumped back, "Hey!"

"Ya needs ta wear dis," she told him, "or dis gonna hurts."

He stood still and let her apply the greasy looking substance. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked her.

"Ya jus gots ta be scary," she said. "Ya a orc, ya can figger it out."

"Yeah, man," Whitecrow said, slapping Ferruk on the back so hard he took an involuntary step forward. "Just be yourself, that'll scare them for sure!" He made a face then, and wiped the grease on his hand off on Ferruk's breastplate. "That shit's gross."

"Ya ready?" Nantu asked Ferruk.

He blinked dimly at her in the dark shadows. "I guess?" he said questioningly, still not sure what he was supposed to do.

She pulled another pot out of her packs and started applying liberal amounts of another greasy substance to his face and hands, and any other exposed skin she could find. "There ye go, then," she told him, and pulled a gnomish army knife out of her pack.

Then she promptly lit him on fire.

"Well, dun just stand there!" she told him, "Git goin!"

Closing his eyes against the fire, he wandered in the general direction of the humans, raising his arms and shaking his fists. "I am the dreadful demon… uh… Robibitz, and I have come to take you to hell with me!"

The humans fired several flaming arrows at him, which only served to increase the conflagration. "I will burn you for a thousand years!" Ferruk shouted, getting into it now. "I will have my revenge for… uh… pillaging my village I claimed as my own!" Another couple arrows hit him, one stinging his cheek painfully. He was starting to sweat profusely under his armor, and his face was feeling a bit chapped at this point.

Quite unexpectedly, from behind him, something exploded with a 'bang!' Seeing the sparks shower behind him, and him apparently unhurt, the humans finally broke and ran.

Moments later, the fire faded. As the others joined him, Malovici cackling gleefully, "Good job man, that looked like fun!" Ferruk just sighed.

"Note to self: Never trust Nantu," Ferruk said to the world at large.

Nantu just laughed as hard as Malovici. "Werked, didn't it?" was her only response.


	18. Chapter 18

Part 18

The priest stood in front of Nerissa and Vranesh. An elderly elf, he was dressed in full vestments. It was time.

Nerissa tried one more time to run, but the priest behind her exerted a powerful control over her that kept her immobile. She was aware, but as if she were a visitor to her own body. His mind rested beside hers, oppressing her thoughts and her hopes simultaneously.

The priest in front of her began speaking, "Ma-widge. Ma-widge is what bwings us togevah today. Ma-widge, that bwessed eventment. That dweam within a dweam."

At that moment, shouting arose outside the residence. The guests began looking around.

The priest, as if oblivious, continued droning on, "…that wuv, twue wuv, will follow you forevah."

Outside, the humans were fleeing even as the priest plunged doggedly onwards, "So tweasure your wife—"

To the right of Vranesh, Quardis impatiently snapped, "Skip to the end."

The priest's mouth snapped shut and he looked irritated for a moment. A guest whispered, "How unseemly!" but a glare from Quardis in her general direction ended her diatribe before it began.

"Have you the ving?" the priest asked Quardis. Quardis dug in his breast pocket and handed it to him.

While the attention of the priest behind her wandered, Nerissa managed to blurt, "Here comes Ferruk now." The priest regained control, and she found her hand rising to accept the ring.

"He cannot get to you. I saw to that myself," Quardis told her. "He shall be dead soon."

"Vranesh, do you take Nerissa to be your wife—" the priest began, scowling when Vranesh interrupted him.

"Yes yes, get on with it," Vranesh said in agreement with his brother.

"And do you, Nerissa Mequa—" he began, this time being cut off by Quardis again.

"Man and wife! Say man and wife!" Quardis snarled impatiently. "I've an orc to kill."

"Man and wife," the priest said obediently.

Quardis jerked Nerissa to Vranesh, "Go consummate this, and be fast about it." He said to Vranesh, and then shoved the priest in their wake, "You go witness it."

He then slammed the doors shut and headed for the front of the residence, locking the guests inside for their own protection. He was highly irritated now, as this should have been over with already.

They were charging into the Del'Narik residence when Quardis burst out through the large, ornate double doors. Upon seeing him, the group pulled up short. "You must be Quardis," Ferruk said.

"Yes, I am," Quardis said smugly.

"My name is Ferruk Firecaller. You stole my wife. Prepare to die," Ferruk told him.

"Oh, I don't think it'll be me dying today," Quardis told him.

"Whitecrow, you're with me. Mal and Nan, you guys go find Nerissa," Ferruk said. Whitecrow paused, and Ferruk knew why. "I can wait to see her, I'm needed more here. I can protect her better by killing her captor than by rushing off because I couldn't wait to see her again."

With no further ado, Whitecrow flashed the few feet that separated him from Quardis. As the impact stunned Quardis and his two escorts, Nantu and Malovici ran past them and into the elegant, posh home.

Ferruk summoned totems, letting them drop to the ground, where they began to glow. He was unsure exactly which would help most, so he took a wild guess. He was reasonably certain that Quardis would have the best gear that money could buy, as well as a good number of special scrolls and abilities.

Plus, of course, whatever was inherent in his training. He was an older elf, and therefore, it was likely that his training was extensive, centuries if not millennia longer than Ferruk or Whitecrow's training. The best they could hope for was to hold on long enough for the assistance they'd been offered to arrive.

The first thing Ferruk did, in fact, was to use the amulet Alec had given him. To his surprise, it was Alec himself who materialized beside Whitecrow. The little mage immediately started to batter the area with massive missiles of ice that missed Whitecrow and Ferruk entirely as if they were attuned.

The rain of ice, however, drew Quardis' attention away from Whitecrow—actually a good thing for the moment, because as Ferruk expected, his melee was hitting Whitecrow like a herd of rampaging mammoth. Ferruk's Healing abilities, despite the boost that still remained (though it was waning) from the demon blood, were barely keeping up.

For a short period, he got a reprieve as Alec's magical shield absorbed large amounts of damage from one very, very angry Quardis. Whitecrow altered his attention and began to dispatch the priest to Quardis' left, before he could Heal Quardis and ruin all of their day. Thanks to Alec's casting, they managed to make short work of the priest.

But all good things, they say, must come to an end, and Alec's visit was much the same. "The spell that called me here comes to an end, my friends." And just like that, he was gone.

Once again, Ferruk and Whitecrow were in desperate straits.

It was surprisingly easy to find Nerissa and Vranesh—they saw them disappear around a corner ahead of them just as they passed the main entry hall of the residence. Nantu headed that way at a run, unconcerned for the moment with being seen.

But then, a devious thought formed in her mind. "Wait," she whispered to Malovici. "Can ya take care of dat priest? Me'll take care of Vranesh…"

Malovici studied her face for a moment before responding, "Of course I can. Why is that right now, I'm extremely glad I'm not Vranesh?"

"Cause blue—dat's me—is 'bout ta bring dat skinny, nasty white elfie lows, dat's why," Nantu told him, malice roaring through her voice.

The spot where an eyebrow might once have been on Malovici's face twitched, and he made a chuckling noise like groaning oaks or a dying raptor. "Poor Vranesh, I can't wait to see what brutality the prophecy has stirred in our gentle Nantu." He didn't really sound very sympathetic, though.

Nantu laughed cruelly, and they slipped forward much more slowly this time. At last, they could see into the room, and at Nantu's nod, Malovici crept in and behind the priest, who was lounging in a chair, clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

Vranesh was currently struggling with Nerissa. She was holding her own—but barely. He had size and strength on his side, and she was wearing a wedding dress, not enchanted plate armor. Nevertheless, she hit him again with a powerful bolt of Holy fire, and he swore copiously, before punching her, his blow glancing off of her cheek with barely any force.

Nantu pulled out the scroll, and began chanting softly, unnoticed by the wrestling combatants inside the room. The moment she did, Malovici magically sapped the will of the priest, causing the man to simply seem to fall asleep where he sat. Malovici immediately crept back towards Nantu.

As Nantu completed the spell, Vranesh suddenly stood up and simply walked away from Nerissa. Coming over to Nantu, he stood obediently and passively at her side. Nerissa saw Nantu and immediately ran across the room, hugging her madly. Malovici materialized beside Nantu.

"Oh, me, too!" he said. Nerissa grabbed him in a hug as well. Ever the mischievous one, Malovici grabbed her by the butt and started dancing with her.

But he amused himself for only a second or so, before bringing Nerissa back into attunement with them. They all sensed the urgency of the fight on the front lawn, and as such, Nantu and Malovici took back off down the hall, Nerissa promising to join them momentarily and Vranesh trotting along behind like an eager puppy.

Within moments, they had joined the fray, and the second priest joined the first in the great beyond.

Nerissa, ignoring the now-snoring elderly priest, changed with all haste back into armor. Racing down the hallway, she burst out of the doors and lit into Quardis with unmistakable relish.

* * *

The Spire in Silvermoon city suddenly burst into furious activity. Men and women began appearing, sometimes practically on top of one another's heads, in the mage's learning area. The trainers even stopped to stare as the elves burst into the room from the portal. After what seemed an eternity, they were through, nearly a full garrison of them.

"This way!" Kel'Norat shouted. They followed him out of the Spire, where they mounted swiftly. Then, at a full-out gallop, they rushed through the seedy Rogues Quarter, into the Elder's Walk, where the same gatekeeper opened the gates to the residential area without even a moment's hesitation.

Leading the charge, Kel'Norat raced up the lane, his heart thundering in his chest. His daughter's life was at stake, and he'd be damned if he'd spend what might be her final moments sleeping in Dalaran. For the first time in his life—and he hoped it wasn't too late—Kel'Norat did the brave thing.

His timing was impeccable, too, because the human rabble had rallied, and were barreling up the lawn towards the vulnerable group fighting Quardis.

Without stopping, Kel'Norat raced into the midst of them, and began raining down fire upon them all. A priest's magical shell pinged up around him, joining his own. Then Sharinia was beside him. She protected herself in the same fashion, and nodded resolutely at him. She was in this with him, come what may.

Kel'Norat's old friend, Salanarious, leaped from his hawkstrider beside the pair, and Holy flames shot out around him, consecrating the ground beneath them. The humans swarmed him as they were lashed with agonizing fire, forgetting about Kel'Norat and Sharinia.

Spell after spell, Kel'Norat hurled fireballs and bolts around him. He suddenly felt alive. For the first time in his daughter's life, he was fighting for her. He was standing up to the enemy, as he should have done all those years ago to Chalisse. He was fighting beside the woman he loved, for the daughter he adored.

At last he understood why some men craved battle. Blood sprayed around him as Salanarious' sword bit into yet another human throat, and this time, Kel'Norat flinched as the head slapped him on the side before sliding to the ground to land with a hollow 'thunk.' He felt arrows raining on him, and turned to see a small group of archers standing off to the side. Their arrows couldn't penetrate the magical barriers protecting him, but they could reach others.

So Kel'Norat turned his attention to them, guiding powerful spells there. Within moments, he had killed them all, their magic-mangled bodies falling in slow motion towards the ground.

But while that part of the battle had gone their way, the press of human bodies around them only seemed to be getting thicker, and the elves' power reserves were dropping fast.

* * *

With the others there, Quardis actually seemed to begin to take some damage. Nerissa landed a powerful blow that crushed the back of Quardis' plate armor into his back, slightly hindering the flawless motions of his right arm. Malovici managed to find a vulnerable spot at Quardis' left leg, digging slightly into the back of his knee, before a powerful blow from Quardis' broadsword sent him rolling across the grass.

Whitecrow's axe was blazing through the air, dripping now with blood. He was beginning to land one blow after another in a rhythmic manner on the same spot on Quardis' left arm. He was simply hoping to chop through the armor, and then the arm there, like one might fell a tree.

He used his shield to block as many of Quardis' hits as he could, but the man was powerful, and Whitecrow's arm was weary. This despite the fact that the shield usually felt little heavier than a feather—a mere extension of his arm.

Nerissa had picked up on Whitecrow's attempts, and was adding her massive broadsword to his attempts. If they could cripple his arm, he would have great difficulty swinging his sword, and would have to resort to some other method of causing damage. Because it was rapidly becoming a problem to keep up with the damage he was dealing to Whitecrow, as Nantu attempted to aid in the healing process.

The two of them, despite their combined efforts, were falling behind, and Whitecrow's titanic bulk was beginning to give out. If they couldn't slow the damage down, he wouldn't last much longer.

To make matters worse, a battle had broken out behind them, some elves having arrived to stop the humans who had returned to wreak havoc behind Ferruk in the open yard. The tide had turned against the elves, but there was nothing the party could to do assist them.

Except… except to call upon the final aid they had available.

Ferruk pulled forth the bell-like trumpet and blew three strident notes on it.

Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all.

It seemed they were on their own, and despite Vranesh beating brutally upon his own brother under the mental control of Nantu, and the elves who had arrived to help them, as well as their group being fully restored… it was not enough.

Unbeknownst to them, beyond the gates of the residential section, the streets of the city came to sudden, inexplicable, atypical life. Men leaped from their beds, some of them leaving lovers behind—some of their loves came with them. Women scrambled, too, hastening to dress.

The call had come. It had to be answered by one and all.

But the Guards weren't alone. The rangers knew what this particular call meant as well. They had spies among the guards, and if there was one thing that was nearly universal in Silvermoon City… it was hatred of Vranesh and loathing of Quardis.

Rangers mobilized as well. Bows were restrung, leather armor donned. Hawkstriders screeched in the streets as a general, seemingly pandemic chaos erupted. Streams of men and women converged towards the residential section. Galloping feet pattered or clattered or padded with great haste.

Urgency ruled as the call was heard, and answered. The day had finally come when Quardis, long considered one of the single most evil and powerful men in Silvermoon, was being openly challenged.

And so they came. Flooding from every direction, bailing on barters, dropping food plates in their rush, leaving drinks forgotten and getting warm… they came.

Charging through the gates that remained opened from Kel'Norat's entrance, they were like locusts, swarming past the stunned gatekeeper. Guards, rangers, blood knights, even curious onlookers, they poured into the yard; a strange river of bodies flowing towards a mighty conflagration.

Roaring, racing, they came, jostling and shoving and shouting. The night lit up from the many torches they carried, the blackness of midnight giving way to the burning rage of thousands of long-abused elves.

They wanted blood. Common men, peasant women… tonight they were out in force, and for once in their long, long history, the nobles cowered in terror in their plush houses, alarmed that the hoi polloi dared show up, even in such numbers, in the sanctity of their walls. But they would not interfere—this time.

Because they had their own reasons for wanting the demise of one Quardis Del'Narik.

It was not only the peasantry whose daughters disappeared into his mansion to never return. And the rareness with which elves reproduced meant that each death was a deep affront.

In the yard, the massive crowd ran over the humans as if they weren't even there, guards and rangers brutally striking them dead, often saving a sorely pressed elf in the process.

But for three of them, the grace came too late.

The hardest press of humans was around Kel'Norat, Sharinia, and Salanarious. It was Salanarious who gave way first, as Sharinia's reserves of power failed. Falling to one knee, his sword wavered beside his shield, which fell to the ground. Kel'Norat blasted all around them, freezing the nearest humans in place. Grabbing Sharinia's hand, he tried to flee towards the arriving crowd.

Sharinia stumbled, and Kel'Norat turned. He faced the human who had stabbed her, a tall man with several missing teeth. The human grinned, the black spaces between his green teeth making him look almost demonic to Kel'Norat. The man stabbed at him again, and despite the man's disheveled and slovenly appearance, Kel'Norat knew that without anymore Power reserves, his foe was likely his last sight as well.

He brandished his dagger, more ornament than weapon. The human laughed, and another two joined him—each with even fewer teeth remaining than the first. Sharinia groaned at his feet, and Kel'Norat despaired.

His friend was dead, and the woman he loved was not long after him for the grave. But Kel'Norat was determined to hold out for as long as he could. If only he could hold out until the Guards arrived.

He could not. A single sword thrust to the heart, and he toppled backwards. He looked over at Sharinia, and watched in agony as she was stabbed in the heart, as well. One of the humans stepped on their entwined hands as he ran. The Guards had finally arrived.

Kel'Norat watched the light go out in Sharinia's eyes, and gasped as his life leaked into a lung. He had given his daughter a few more moments of life. He'd gotten to make love to the woman dearest to his heart. He would die holding her hand. His only regret was that his dear friend Salanarious had died, as well.

The last thought he had, as he slipped into death's embrace, was that he wouldn't have wanted to live without Sharinia, anyway.

Nor, had he but known it, would she have wanted to live on without him.

* * *

The entire fight between the group and Quardis actually ground to a halt as the crowd arrived.

The guard that had given Ferruk the horn stepped forward. "Give him to us," the guard said.

Ferruk hesitated. Then slowly, hesitantly, regretfully, he stepped aside. There was simply no way the group could withstand the might of the legion in front of them.

The guard turned to Quardis, "You've killed our sons. You've killed our daughters. You've raped, you've stolen, and you've taken without mercy. It is your turn to die."

"You _dare_ to speak to me, filth?" Quardis snarled. "Even these adventurers have barely even brought me pain with their efforts. I will swat you all like the worthless gnats you are!" His voice rose until he was shouting at the crowd, "I give you everything! Because of my wealth and power, you enjoy quiet, peaceful lives here! Your enemies fear me!

"Now, you _dare_ to come to my doorstep, and you _dare_ to challenge me in my own home? I am three thousand years old, and I have spent that considerable lifetime learning and honing my power! You are nothing! Do you hear me? _Nothing_!

"I will destroy you all, and then I will tear your wives and your children limb from limb as you deserve, you ungrateful little bitches!"

Forgetting the group entirely, he roared out into the crowd of Silvermoon citizens. He threw some of them bodily, yet more and more kept coming for him. For more than five minutes, the battle raged. Whitecrow re-entered the fray, and the others followed suit. They added what assistance they could to the general melee, though it was difficult with so many thronging together in their drive to destroy the man who had torn lives, loves, and hopes asunder for… nearly three thousand years.

When the great Quardis Del'Narik finally died, it was with profanity still streaming from his lips. He fought every instant to the very end, taking as many with him as he could.

And when it was over, the crowd stood as if stunned.

Until a shout rang out, "Vranesh! It's Vranesh!"

But the guard in the lead lifted his hand to stay the crowd, as an angry murmur flashed through the crowd. A second prize within their grasp, and they were being denied.

"We cannot kill him, surely you all must know this. He is a darling to the nobles. If we kill him, they will punish us, and our children, and our children's children. I also hate him and want to see him dead, but I love my children more than I want to see him dead," he told them.

Another murmur of anger flashed through the crowd. They didn't want to let the man get away. He was within their grasp, and yet, so far away.

Nantu stepped forward. "Ye wants revenge, aye?"

The guard nodded, "Yes, we do. He has done terrible things to our families, and he's… well, he's an asshole in general."

Nantu crossed her arms. "Wut ya thinks if I gives ya the revenge ya wants? Hims trieds ta force Nerissa into marryin' 'im, even dough she don't wanna. I wants da revenge for dat. Wut say yous dat we share our revenges wit each othah?"

"What have you got in mind?" the guard asked, the crowd murmuring curiously behind him.

Nantu grinned wickedly. "He be mah pet right now. All yous gots ta do, is watch…"

The guard looked out at the crowd, and finally back and Nantu. He shrugged. "Show us what ya got, then, troll," he told Nantu.

[m BE / f troll] [male rape] [sodomy with foreign objects] [MC] [fem domination + S&M] [male humiliation] [orgasm control/ pleasure withholding] [orgy] [public sex]

Ferruk and Nerissa moved towards one another. At long last, they were once more in each other's arms, and it was all they could think of. The gory battle scene around them did nothing at all to dampen their delight at seeing one another once more. If anything, it seemed to remind them of all they'd been through to get to this place.

How strange that it was all over, that finally the two people who had been most hell-bent upon destroying them were now dead. What was to become of the petulant Vranesh, only Nantu knew, but they had a feeling that she was about to ensure that he wouldn't bother them again.

Whitecrow and Malovici came up to the pair, expressing their happiness that she was well, and whole, and back with them. Then they withdrew discreetly to watch whatever it was that Nantu had in mind.

It was Malovici who found Kel'Norat and Sharinia. He made the command decision not to tell Nerissa until later. She deserved to enjoy being restored to her husband. Deities knew, she'd earned it a million times over. Searching a bit further, he decided that the scene was as secure as it could be.

Then he turned to watch the show. _This_, he thought, _should be entertaining at least_.

Nantu stepped up onto Quardis' front porch, and the enthralled Champion Vranesh followed her obediently. Using a minor trick, Nantu amplified their voices so that all of those assembled could hear. "Ya jus as well gits comf'ble, dis gonna be a while."

Then she turned to Vranesh, "Undress yerself, mah pet." He immediately obeyed, ignoring the crowd settling in for the show.

When he was done, she told him, "Now ya undresses me." He undressed her.

She sent one of the guards to Quardis' basement, where her guess proved accurate, and he found several chains. These, he brought back up.

By this time, both she and Vranesh were naked, standing in front of the throng of elves. Nantu's breasts stood proudly, the nipples cobalt blue against the brighter, lighter blue of her skin. The many torches around, and the lanterns on the front of the house, made a perfect light to line her delicately in a golden hue.

Between her legs, a neatly trimmed patch of cobalt winked above the tight confines of her labia and the secrets it hid from the view of the crowd. She was delicately curvaceous, her breasts smallish but firm, high, and round. Her hips were lean though they fanned out into strong legs, enhancing their curve gently with the muscles there.

She first chained him to the pillars of the porch, using the lanterns to hold his arms outwards from his body. She walked around him, slowly examining him, as one might look over a horse they want to buy. She pulled out the riding crop she kept around for her mount—a relic of days gone by, really, but a friend had made it, so she'd kept it.

Convenient, now, that was.

She ran it up the inside of his leg, and then the outside of his leg. She tapped it gently against her own then, as she walked around him. "Bit scrawny, but I s'pose ya gonna has ta do," she told him. "When I talks ta yas, ya gonna say ta me, 'Yes Mistress,' ya unnerstand?"

"Yes," he said.

She brought the crop down hard against the inside of one of his legs. He didn't react, still under her mind control scroll. "Say 'Yes Mistress'," she demanded.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied dutifully.

She pushed his blue hair back over his shoulder, she pressed her body against his, rubbing provocatively against him. His penis began to rise in response to the stimulation of her nipples against his chest. She was taller than him, but didn't seem to care, and it certainly didn't seem to distract him from the fact that her body was sensually arousing his simply by pressing to him.

She made her way behind him, and then ran her hands up the outside of his body, before slowly pulling the crop back and slapping him roughly on the ass with it. As it slapped against his buttocks with a loud, powerful sound, he grunted, the pain apparently dragging the response out of him despite the mind control scroll.

She then stopped again, and slipped her hand around in front of him, fondling gently at his scrotum. When his penis rose further, now fully erect and obviously eager for her attentions, she stepped in front of him and began to fondle that, too.

"Tell mah how much yas likes mah hand on ya, Vranesh," she told him as she moved faster.

"Yes, Mistress. I like your hand on me," he replied, his voice monotone and lacking expression.

"No, no, not like dat," she said, "Ah needs ya ta convince meh dat ya likes it, and dat tone of voice jus ain't doin' it. Try again."

He responded too slowly for her, and she slapped him roughly with the crop, leaving a welt across his chest. "Yes Mistress!" he answered then, "I love your hand on me," he told her, his voice quavering.

"Bettah, but ya still needs werk. We'll see how ya does from now on," she told him.

She turned to the crowd and asked them to bring a nearby stone bench up to the porch. It had no back, simply a rectangular stone with four iron legs holding it up. It was perfect. The four assisted her in tying him down to it on his back. His calves dangled from it, but otherwise, it was more than generous enough to hold him.

She ran the crop down his body again, this time slowly, sensually, so that he could feel her slowly getting closer and closer to his genitals. She slowly traced a circle around them, getting closer and closer, letting the crop graze lightly.

Then, she stepped one leg onto the bench, then the other leg. Kneeling now between his legs, she leaned forward and let her pale pink tongue slip out from between her cobalt lips. She licked him, starting at the base of his penis, and moving her way up from there, to the tip. There, she swirled her tongue around it, licking up the bit of precum that dripped.

From there, she backed off, leaving him now panting and starting to sweat on the bench. Then she began to crawl up his body, letting him feel her heat and wetness against him.

"Shall Ah let him lick meh, or make 'im wait?" she asked the crowd. "Boo if ya want 'im ta have ta wait, clap if ya want 'im ta lick meh now."

The crowd booed, and she shook her head. "Oh, they dun like ya none, Champ'in," she told him, her voice cruel and mocking.

Right in front of his face, she began to touch herself, openly pleasuring her own clitoris and slipping one of her three thick trollish fingers inside herself. She began to gasp as small droplets of her arousal sprinkled down to touch his face. The crowd cheered her and jeered at Vranesh.

"If ya begs me pretty-like, I mights ignore dere wishes, and let ya have a lick. If ya do it right, I will let ya taste me on yer cock, Vranesh. Go 'head, beg meh," she mocked him.

"Yes, Mistress. Please, I beg you, let me lick your pussy," he said, panting and arching.

"Ya dun soun' sincere ta meh. Does he sound sincere ta yous?" she asked the crowd. They booed loudly and jeered at him again. "They dun think ya soun' sincere, neither. Ya gonna has ta try again."

"Please, Mistress, let me lick you. I'll make it the best you've ever had!" he said, his body grinding against her as he strained up against his bonds


	19. Chapter 19

Part 19

"Oh, yer a arrogant little prick, ain't ya? Ya really tink ya kin do bettah den a troll, what wit their long, strong tongues?" she threw her head back and laughed. "Wot ya all tink, shud I lets 'im try ta outdo a troll tongue?"

This time, the crowd cheered, obviously enjoying the sexual show. This was a regular sort of thing for the nobility, but a new one for the working class. They were enjoying it fully. In fact, despite the bodies lying about, it had taken on a sort of festival atmosphere. Some were even pulling out drinks from their packs and passing them around.

For the elves, sex was a sort of sport, and it was one that the working class rarely got to observe in such a manner. The fact that Vranesh had personally affronted or even personally devastated many of them in various ways, and that it was he lying there begging a troll for sexual favors, was all the more festive to their way of thinking. The usually reserved elves were letting their wilder sides come out, and doing it freely.

And they were fully embracing Nantu and her treatment of Vranesh.

She shimmied forward on the bench, and then sat down on Vranesh's face. He began to lick, trying to stimulate the woman above him. She raised her hand to the crowd, and then gave them a big thumb's down sign. They laughed and jeered, mocking the man whose face she was sitting on.

She picked up the riding crop and brought it down across his penis, hard enough to hurt, but not to damage. She wanted it to be functional after all. He bellowed in pain, and she grinned. He wouldn't have done so if he were still mind controlled. "Ya gots ta try harder!" she told him, "or I beats ya again!"

He went at it again with vigor, but still couldn't manage to get her stimulated sufficiently. She sighed and climbed off, making a show of how disappointed she was with him. The crowd laughed and booed.

Then she walked slowly around Vranesh, once more trailing the riding crop along his body.

She climbed on top of him again, this time hovering over his penis with her naked labia teasing him, the entrance to her vaginal canal teasingly close—yet as good as a hundred miles, for all his jerking and straining could reach it. "Meh tinks ya likes bein' in public, bein' on display," she told him snidely, "da way ya is all grunting and strainin' ta gets inta meh."

Then she sat down on him, his gasp loud across the assembled audience. "Hmm," she said, "I tink I missed yer cock, I still feels so empteh and unfulfilled," she said. More laughter and jeering rang out at Vranesh, but she could tell he was too far into his sexual delight to be bothered by it.

She began to pump on top of him, letting him feel the heat and the wetness of her, until she could feel he was about to orgasm. Then she abruptly hopped off, leaving his penis quivering in the cool night air. The crowd once more clapped, many of them now starting to remove their own clothes or to reach inside their garments.

She walked around him, and then began to slap him roughly with the crop, leaving a latticework of painful welts across belly, chest, and legs. The crowd clapped, cheering her on as she continued to beat him. All the anger she felt at the past, and at him trying to force her friend into an unwanted marriage.

She saw him start to lose his erection, and climbed onto him again, taking his semi-hard penis into her mouth again. Sucking him back to erection, she sucked and fondled him. Bobbing her head on his penis, letting her tongue wave against the back of it, she began to fondle his balls, tugging and even twisting them. Soon, he was arching and groaning, panting in preparation for his release.

She stopped abruptly. "Beg meh, me pet, beg meh to let you cum."

He did, a pathetic, whining sound in his voice that she despised. She sneered down at him, "No."

She turned to the crowd again, who by this point were nearly delirious in their own passions, some of them already coupling with each other openly. "Wot shall Ah do ta him now?"

Someone yelled out, "Shove it up his ass!"

Another agreed. "That's right, he raped my daughter. Rape him for her, troll!" Shouts of agreement rose, a tide of anger flowing through the crowd.

At the statement, Vranesh's penis had entirely deflated, lying flaccid and limp on his belly. "No, no, no, please don't," he said, his voice whimpering.

The same one who had accused him of raping his daughter shouted, "How many times did my daughter say that, you piece of shit?" "Yeah!" others echoed, a rising tide of violence starting to surge through the crowd again.

Nantu raised her hands over her head, "Tonight, ya shall has yer vengeance, elves," she told them.

She turned back to Vranesh, and once more purposely aroused him to a frenzied state of lust. When he was close to orgasm once again, Nantu gave the crowd what they wanted. She shoved the handle of the crop straight into his ass, then raped him with it. She kept him erect, even as he shrieked and yelled and begged her to stop, by simply keeping the stimulation of her mouth on him.

After a few moments, she stopped. Turning to the crowd, she said, "Ah'm gonna leave 'im like dat. If one of yas wants ta take care of 'is needs, or if ya wants ta pull dat out, den I leaves it ta ya ta do so."

Picking up her clothes, she stepped off of the stone dais that comprised the entryway to Vranesh's posh home.

"No!" he shrieked. "You can't leave me like this! They'll kill me!"

"You like that troll pussy, don't ya, Vranesh," someone shouted in a jeer.

"I was mind controlled," Vranesh yelled back, some degree of anger in his voice.

"Ya wasn't mind controlled for more than the first two minutes, ya lyin' shitbag," Nantu said. The crowd roared with laughter and approval.

And sure enough, Nantu left him that way, while the crowd continued their orgy.

* * *

Malovici then pulled Ferruk aside. "I think you should know, Kel'Norat's dead over there. I don't know when you might want to tell her about it."

Ferruk drew in a sharp breath. "We have to get his body out of here," he told Malovici. "Show me." He told the others they'd be right back and followed Malovici.

They found the bodies undisrupted. But the frozen tableau was all too clear. "I didn't know he was in love with Nerissa's maid," Ferruk said. "I fear that may complicate things." He scratched beside his tusk, a familiar gesture when he was unsure.

"What're you talking abou—" her voice trailed off. Softly, with a sob, "Daddy!"

She'd not yet heard that her mother was dead, and here she had followed behind them to confront, far too soon, the pain and grief of losing her father. Like most people, she responded with the name for him that was closest to her heart. She stumbled forward, and then saw Sharinia's corpse lying close to his, their hands entwined.

"Oh, Deities, I didn't know!" she said mournfully. "How could I have lived with them both, and never known?" She sounded anguished as she said it.

The others came up behind them, as Malovici told her honestly, "Spoiled brats don't notice other people."

She looked up at him; the others stared at him aghast. A tear ran down her face then. "It makes me wonder how much else I missed, right under my nose," she said in a voice twisting with anguish. "We can't leave them here," she said, unknowingly echoing Ferruk's earlier sentiments.

The group began to search for a way to move the bodies, settling upon Ferruk simply yanking a fence apart. They used the longer sections to create a sort of travois upon which to place the pair. They managed to move them onto it without disrupting their joined hands, much to Nerissa's delight.

By this time, the festivities, or the orgy, whichever one might choose to call it, had died down. Forms moved among the failing torches, until one noticed them.

"Nerissa?" It was the same guard who had given Ferruk the horn earlier in the evening. "What're you doing?"

"My father…" her voice trailed off as she choked on a sob. After a moment, during which he waited quietly, she continued, "He gave his life, leading a group here to try to help us kill Quardis. The humans killed him."

The guard drew in a deep breath. "He had much to lose by standing up to Quardis. Not only his life, but his entire standing, even if he had lived, he would be an outcast now."

She nodded silently, "He knew that."

"But did it anyway," the guard finished the thought for her. "Hey, Vandriel, help me out over here. Gather up some men, we have a hero to transport!"

Vandriel clomped away, "Men, to me!" he shouted, and torches blazed up again through the courtyard. Guard scrambled back into their armor, and rangers also gathered up to find out what was going on.

When the crowd had gathered, the guard who had befriended them, whose name they'd learned while Vandriel was gathering up help, was Aranaught, explained the situation.

Everyone there, with the exceptions of Ferruk, Malovici, and Nantu, knew what he'd given up that night, had he survived. Whitecrow, with his extensive knowledge of other cultures, had a grasp of it, but not a genuine understanding the same way the elves did.

Solemnly, a vanguard of guards picked up the travois, a silent phalanx of pallbearers, carrying the couple out of the residential section, and into the city. The rest would be dealt with later, but for now, they chose to honor this pair, who had given their lives to rally support for those who had ended the terrifying reign of an unofficial dictator.

Slowly, the pallbearers carried Kel'Norat and Sharinia through the streets of Silvermoon. Nerissa walked in their wake, accompanied by her husband and her friends. Behind them came a silent wall of working class elves, their helms respectfully removed. They walked slowly towards the Spire, where the pair were laid in state.

Carefully, men and women both, the group of elves worked to clean and prepare the two bodies. Ferruk and the rest tried to stay out of the way as the elves moved swiftly and purposefully around them. Then, the couple's hands were united once again.

One of the mages in the group stepped forward, and began a long incantation. The other elves stood silent and still, their heads bowed quietly, until at last the spell completed.

Kel'Norat and Sharinia were enveloped in ice as the spell completed, looking somehow serene and at peace. Finery had been found to replace their armor, and they looked like royalty. Both had died with the slightest smiles on their faces, as if looking at one another had made death easy, even joyful.

Ferruk pulled Nerissa close to him, and hoped that if they died in battle, it would be with that kind of love. She burrowed into his side, and said softly so that the group could hear her, but so that it wasn't generally disruptive, "They will be buried at the family estate, exactly as they are now."

The others nodded. It seemed fitting.

They turned and went wearily to the inn, where the innkeeper, who refused to accept their payment, gave them rooms.

Once at the inn, they sat for a short time, relaxed and simply being in one another's company for the first time since they'd met. There was no pressure to do anything, everything that needed to be done could be done in good time.

"Chalisse was killed, we don't know how," Ferruk told Nerissa. His eyes were gentle and kind in his green face, despite their slight red glow. "I'm sorry, I know you've already lost your father this evening, but I thought you should know before anything else happens."

She sat and looked at the drink in front of her. "I'm not surprised, and the only thing that makes me genuinely sad about that revelation is that I'm not particularly sad. I always thought she was the one that loved me, but it's like I lost her already at the inn in Vengeance Landing.

"On the same evening, I gained my father. It was a strange trade, but I gave up my mother when I realized that Nantu was right about her. It doesn't hurt so much to lose her this time. But my father, that one hurts. I never got to spend time with him after I finally got to know him somewhat. I never got to tell him that I loved him, that I finally understood, that I got it." A tear slid down her cheek then, and Ferruk ran a hand through her hair, holding her gently when she turned to him and buried her face in his shoulder.

Finally, she got herself back under control, and used the napkin to clean her face up. Ferruk thought she looked beautiful, even with her eyes swollen and red from crying.

"I'll have to speak to the Counsel tomorrow, and let them know I was already married. That should be a simple issue. And I still must visit Dalaran and get this curse removed. But over-all, I think that life will be simpler for me from here on out." She sighed and looked up at Ferruk, "At least, I hope so."

"What will you do about your estate?" Whitecrow inquired. "Doesn't someone have to be there to watch over it? Without a family member in nearly constant attendance, it's in danger of being stolen or taken over, isn't it?"

"Well, I can do that, or I can simply appoint what amounts to a sort of regent or caretaker. In which case, so long as he or she is trustworthy, the estate should survive, if not flourish. I actually have someone in mind, but I'll have to speak with him before I make any real decisions on it," she told them.

The group spent another hour or so drinking and talking before they all finally retired to their rooms. They decided to spend two days at the inn before heading once more for Dalaran. They were all overdue for a break.

The group separated to their rooms, Ferruk and Nerissa making their way to their own. None of them had chosen standard elfish rooms, and Nerissa was glad of it. She didn't want her sex life with Ferruk to be a curiosity, which it would be to pretty much all the races. And of course, standard elven rooms were shrouded only by light curtains, so should someone walking past decide to look in, they easily could.

When the door shut, they stood and looked at each other for a few minutes in silence. Despite all the time they'd spent already together, or making love, or unwillingly separated, they both felt intensely shy and unsure in that moment.

They both spoke at the same time, "I—" "What—" They subsided with tense laughter.

Nerissa pulled off her packs and dropped them onto the small table provided in the room. She watched as Ferruk followed suit, and then swallowed hard as she came up to him and began to slowly unbuckle the leather latches that held his mail in place. He stopped her hands with his own. "I think we should talk first," he told her.

She shook her head. "There's nothing to say that's more important than this, Ferruk." She studied his face for a moment.

She sighed as he slid his hand into her hair, pulling her towards him for a slow, lingering kiss. "Okay, baby," he told her. "We'll do it your way." His smile told her it wasn't sarcastic, but sincere and said with love.

She grinned, but said nothing, returning instead to unbuckling his armor. He tried to unbuckle hers in return, but it was simply too difficult and too complicated while trying to work around her movements at the same time. Giving up with a frustrated grunt, he assisted her in removing his own armor.

Of course, it went must faster from there, and soon she had him in only his underclothing, breeches, and a tunic. Then together, they went to work on her armor, too. Nerissa's fingers became less and less dexterous the more she worked at the latches, her impatience translating itself into near desperation.

Soon, though, she was divested of her armor as well, barefoot as he was, standing in only her breeches and tunic as well. She remembered her mother's training. 'Don't seem over-eager, it gives you the upper hand,' and various other admonishments. For a moment, she hesitated.

Then it struck her that there were several problems with accepting her mother's advice regarding sex. First off, her mother was miserable her entire long life. Secondly, Nerissa loved the man she faced right now, and her mother had never loved anyone but herself. Last but not least, she had no desire nor need to manipulate the man before her, as he wanted to please her as much as she wanted to please him.

Dumping her training, she practically threw herself at him, kissing him frantically, desperately. She found his tongue inside her mouth, searching, seeking, tasting. She teased it, urging him onwards. They danced this infinite, sensual dance for several moments, and then he began to take her remaining clothes off.

She helped him, desperate to get back to the business of loving him. His were gone with as much haste as hers, and she paused for a moment. She took a long, slow look at him. His chiseled, powerful muscles were elegant and beautiful. They curved across his body, speaking of a latent, untapped potential for tremendous supremacy in physical confrontation.

He studied her in turn, and she looked at his beloved face. How strange that only a few days ago, she didn't even know this man. This man who was now the center of her entire world, this man whose face, for all its seeming ugliness, was the most beautiful thing she could imagine.

Gone was the prejudice that told her what beauty had to look like. Gone was the prejudice that said that physical beauty was what made a person worthy of love or pride or any form of value.

Her world had been turned upside down. Everything she thought was real and right and worthwhile was insignificant.

No matter where she was, if he was there, she was in the right place. Her vast estates were wonderful, and she appreciated them. But she no longer valued them so much that she'd give up anything and everything to scheme and fight and manipulate and control for it.

A whole new priority lived in her now. She understood things she'd never even thought about. And this moment, this sublime, divine moment of standing naked and vulnerable in front of the man she loved was a moment like none she'd ever experienced.

As if he understood her need to assimilate the past few days, he stood waiting for her as she studied him. "I love you," she told him, "and now I really understand what that means."

She moved to him again, this time purposefully, slowly, suggestively. A grin slowly spread across his face, and she grinned back. "And I'm going to show you," she told him saucily.

He raised his hands, laughter in his eyes, "I surrender, I surrender, don't hurt me!"

She pushed him backwards until he fell onto the round bed, his body dwarfing it. "You'd better back up onto that bed properly," she told him, "or I might have to drag you."

"Oh, I wouldn't want that!" he said smartly, snickering slightly and moving up onto the bed more fully.

She pushed his legs apart and slowly climbed up between them. She looked up at him, a mischievous, pretend-threatening look. Slowly, she moved towards him, crawling past his firmly erect penis with a slight pang—it would wait. As she got closer and closer to his face, his grin broadened.

At last she moved to where she was straddling him, sitting down on him just above his penis. She felt it dripping slightly against her back, and knew that he could feel her dripping slightly on his belly. The scent of sex was already heavy in the air, to her delicate sense of smell.

She leaned forward, letting her nipples brush just slightly across his chest. "So what did you think, you could just run off, have a little drink of demon blood, try to kill me, and then just get laid again, just like that?" she asked him archly.

He tried to smooth his face out into a serious look, "Of course not. I would never dream of thinking such a thing," he said. "I thought I could just buy you a hotel room and get laid, just like that."

She sat back, letting her back rub against the penis pressing against her back. "It was free, Mister," she said, pretending crossness.

"Well, so it was," he said. "I was rather hoping you hadn't noticed that. But I did buy the drink," he said.

"Hmm, yes you did," she told him, "and I do believe there wasn't even a single drop of demon blood in it."

"None I would admit to," he said smugly. She couldn't help but giggle, and he grinned at her. "Which is too bad, too. From what I hear, it gives a body tremendous endurance," he said, as if sharing a well-kept secret with her.

"Is that so?" she asked him. "I think I shall need proof of this outrageous claim."

"I think I can provide such proof," Ferruk told her, his red eyes glowing slightly brighter in his green face for a moment. He lurched suddenly, and she found herself underneath him, a leg wedged between hers as he laid on his side, looming over her.

He kissed her as his hand ran up her side and to her breast, where he began to knead and tug slightly at her nipple. Then he quit kissing her, letting one tusk (now filed) graze slightly against her skin on the way to her breast. She gasped once at the light touch, then again as his tongue snaked out and danced across the nipple that topped the breast he was squeezing lightly.

She buried her free hand in his slightly coarse, rough hair and pulled him closer against her. Heat and lust rolled through her body like a sudden mist across a calm sea.

As he teased and kneaded at her breast, her hips bucked and shifted against his leg, her desire requiring some form of physical, active outlet. She wrapped her upper leg around his waist and pulled with it, trying to bring him closer to her. Her hand, trapped between them, seemed to shove its way down towards his penis of its own accord.

Once there, her breath hitched as he responded to her touch with a low growl against her breast, his hips shifting to thrust slightly into her hand. His penis was silky, the hide there soft and smooth over the hardness of the blood-engorged shaft. She stroked softly up and down it, her wet labia repeating the gesture against his leg.

She whined slightly as his lips left her breast, and he grinned at her before taking her lips back in a fierce, deep kiss again. Her hand continued to examine him, trying to reach down to explore his scrotum—just out of her reach… until he shifted to grant her access to it. With a vaguely triumphant groan, she took it into her hand, feeling the weight of his testicles inside it.

She pushed him over onto his back with her free hand, not letting go of him with her other hand, though she did relinquish the hold her leg had on him. Now lying beside him, she began to slide down his body, giving him that mischievous look again. At last, she was kneeling again between his legs, though still working her way across his body, small kisses and even nibbles paving the way towards his groin.

When she got there, she held off on doing anything erotic for a few minutes. She had something to tell him, something that she couldn't directly tell him, but that she wanted him to know.

"There is a sect of Paladins who are considered heretics," she told him, looking at him intently as she began to massage firmly around his penis. Running her hands up his inner thigh on the right, she continued, "They believe that there is a divine matrix that connects and underlies all things.

"The majority of elves believe that sex is a physical thing, meant for pleasure or procreation. This sect of Paladins, however, believe that sex is the gateway to the divine matrix. They believe that, at the moment of orgasm, the mind ceases to discourse with itself, and the matrix shines through its creations."

Her hand had progressed closer and closer, until now she was gently caressing his testicles inside his scrotum. She softly rolled them between her fingers, a light, even touch that explored the size, shape, and weight of both in turn. "They teach that the man is the creator energy of the matrix. For only men create new life, the sperm being created anew many times every day."

She moved up to the shaft of his penis, running her hands up and down it, exploring it as well, and massaging it gently. "Their teachings say that the woman is the sacred vessel that gives creation form, and brings it forth into the world. Thus the functions of the man, and the woman, are in perfect harmony, each required to form a new life."

Her eyes held his as she leaned down and lightly licked the drops of wetness that were seeping from the tip of his penis. She took him into her mouth for a moment, lubricating the tip of his penis with her saliva. "Their teachings say that, at the moment of orgasm when the mind stops, the man and woman enter into a sort of blissful communion with the divine."

She sat up and looked at him for a minute, her eyes glowing brilliantly and intensely at him. "Let's find out." Her voice was husky now, deepened by her desire for him.

Then she lowered her head and took him in her mouth again, discovering his taste, learning the practical application of all that she'd been taught in preparation to manipulate men. Instead, she used what she'd learned to bring pleasure to her husband. She sucked lightly at times, other times she let her tongue play across his penis, or rub on the head.

She began to bob up and down on him, letting the suction of her mouth bring him closer and closer to orgasm. Her mouth made sucking, popping, and occasionally gagging noises as she worked on him. As his sounds and responses seemed to grow more excited, she felt unsure, and hoped that she didn't make a mistake and let him go too far. Perhaps it was too soon, but she stopped when he began to pant and growl again.

He grabbed her head and pulled her back, but she resisted, pulling back upwards with a chuckle. He grunted, trying to get himself under control, seeming to realize (a bit belatedly) that perhaps that wasn't exactly what elves expected during oral sex.

When he'd calmed somewhat, she reached back down and nibbled lightly at the juncture of his thigh and his leg. Moving once more towards his penis, she let the light touch of her lips and tongue there remind him of where they'd just been… and where they were heading once more.

She took him in her mouth again, lightly probing at his head with her tongue, then more fervently. Once more, she teased him up to near orgasm, and once more, she stopped. Not to tease him, but to keep his tension and desire high. To her surprise, though, he took over, pulling her up his body, then rolling her over and slipping off of the bed.

Kneeling between her legs, pulling them wide, he slipped his tongue into her folds. She was soaking wet there, and she felt his tusks slide slightly in the lubrication that her own arousal had provided for other purposes. To her surprise, the sudden sliding of his tusks caused his tongue to press harder against her, and her hips bucked in pleasure as it did so.

He stopped and looked at her, clearly unsure if she were in pain or pleasure. She smiled and nodded at him, pulling him back with her legs. He went back to what he was doing, clearly making it up as he went along. It occurred to her suddenly that he had probably never done this before, either.

They were making their way into the strange territory of oral sex for the first time together. She smiled at the thought. Tusks probably got in the way with orc women, but rose slightly above the level of her legs, and so were no problem for her whatsoever (now that they were filed, of course).

She felt an odd, but extraordinarily pleasurable sensation as his tongue slid inside of her, rubbing against the top of her vaginal canal with the same strength and firmness as a finger might, almost. An orc's tongue is long and dexterous, and of course Ferruk was no exception. As he rubbed there, she reacted strongly, gasping and straining against him, twisting the bedclothes into knots with her fists.

Recognizing her responses, he persisted, until she felt an odd buildup there, different from the first time they'd had sex. She began to moan and arch as the buildup continued, and then she felt her whole body tense up as a delicious bliss exploded between her legs. It started there, and spread out through her body, blossoming in waves that caused her to jerk uncontrollably upwards.

Ferruk growled as she orgasmed, his hands pulling her harder against his face. His tongue lashed at her eagerly, and wave after wave of rose-colored pleasure bloomed from his ministrations. When she subsided, he did as well, slipping his tongue out of her.

He picked her up bodily and pushed her back up onto the bed. He pushed her legs upwards, until she winced in pain, and released her with a soft, "Sorry baby." He searched around for a moment, trying to find his way inside her, but once again, she was incredibly slippery, her own lubricant both copious and extremely effective.

He found her entrance quite suddenly, and shoved into her. She gasped, a startled, "Oh!" escaping her as he entered her. She felt suddenly and intensely filled, her feet on his chest and his penis inside her. He looked at her for a moment; she nodded and smiled, panting slightly. Another exclamation passed her as he pulled out and thrust in once more, their bodies meeting with an audible slap.

She looked up at him, looming over her in the light from the lanterns, and smiled. The soft blue of the cloth that draped the bed was cast on his skin by the lanterns, and he looked softer somehow. The beauty of the setting, the way the light shimmered off of him, and the way he felt inside of her combined to make her feel deeply connected to him.

He began to slide in and out of her, and she gasped again, each thrust feeling perfect and touching her with exquisite perfection. He leaned forward slightly, and picked up the pace. Faster and faster he thrust into her, deeply and completely. She felt an intense pleasure again, centered around him inside of her.

He began to growl again, and she knew he was close to orgasm. The knowledge brought an edge, a powerful lust into the foreground for her. She found the knowledge that he was about to release into her to be stimulating in a profound and erotic way. She wanted to feel it, to know it, to experience it again.

She began to urge him on, without realizing she was speaking at all. "Yes, yes, yes," she said, the word dripping from her lips in a sort of mantra.

Her eyes met his, and the feral growl he was emitting deepened, intensified. His nostrils flared as he stared at her, and she felt the fervency of his regard increase. It was as if he wanted to possess her both with his penis and with his eyes. "Yes," she said again, as if in answer to an unspoken request to do exactly that.

He thrust into her one more time, and practically howled as she jerked in response to his penis jumping inside her as it released into her. Another orgasm rocked her, less than an instant behind his, as their bodies danced in union with one another. His penis pushed out spurts of liquid heat into her, and her vaginal walls thanked him by flexing and squeezing him as she orgasmed in response to his orgasm.

When it was over, he leaned heavily on his arms, looming over her in the semi-dark of the room. To her, he seemed to glow slightly, and she wondered for an instant if the Teachings were correct. Then the moment passed as he moved.

He slowly slipped off of her, smiling at her as she rolled over and snuggled into his chest. "Okay, baby?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said softly, "I feel good."

He kissed her on the top of her head, gently pulling the hair he caught with his tusk away as he laid back.

"Nerissa," he said, "I'm sorry."

She knew what he meant. His behavior along the way. His possessiveness and his anger and assaulting Whitecrow simply for being her friend.

"As odd as it might sound," he told her, "it was the demon blood that made me realize how fruitless my possessiveness and jealousy was. Keleseth took me into a dream, and while I was there, he tried to make me into someone like him, and you rejected that. When I was myself again, you chose me. Just as I am, the real me. Then the demon blood took over and it used those angry feelings to hurt—"

"I dreamed it, too," she told him, surprised.

"He must have linked us up somehow," Ferruk mused. "I didn't know that was possible. Very strange. But I think that's a good thing. Because the fact that you chose me changed a lot for me. That you chose me over the suave guy he tried to make me out to be, really made me realize that I didn't need to be fearful.

"And when he tried to use those feelings against me, and I almost killed you…" he pulled her closer, his voice catching, "that woke me up the rest of the way. Those feelings weren't necessary and they made me weak and made me try to destroy everything I loved."

"It wasn't—" he stopped her with a finger against her lips, and she looked up him.

"The blood only accented and preyed upon what was there. I can't relinquish the responsibility for it entirely," he told her.

She nodded and snuggled against him, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the warmth of his hide. She watched her hand idly tracing the muscles of his body, until sleep claimed her.

But she couldn't sleep long, her body was still aroused by his proximity, and she continually woke up. The third time, she woke him up, and they made love again.

And again.

And again. Three times they made love that night, until the third time she cried out slightly as he slipped out of her. He looked at her in concern, and she grinned wryly. "I'm a little sore. I'm not really used to this."

To her surprise, he smirked widely. She raised an eyebrow and gave him a very pointed look.

"What?" he said, "I'm an orc, I'm supposed to enjoy other people's pain, aren't I? Besides, how many other guys can say they fucked you until you were sore?"

She mock punched him in the shoulder, "You're supposed to be sympathetic!"

He just kept grinning, and told her, "I'm very sympathetic, honest. But really, I'm a little concerned with the fact that you can't keep up with me." His face sobered, and he told her with complete aplomb, "I might need to have a harem, if this is going to be a problem for you."

She gasped and said, "You just try to have a harem, buddy, and see how far you get with that!"

They laughed together and kissed, before settling back into a restless, sensual sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

Part 20

The next day found Nerissa doing some research and putting forth some serious effort towards making a bribe. As she expected, all of her attempts fell flat.

So finally, she went to face the man himself. She found him living with his family in the working class district, and was surprised to see a little girl playing on the patio of his modest residence. She and Ferruk walked up towards the house, and the little girl ran inside shrieking, "Mommy, mommy, it's a orc, it's a orc!"

A few minutes later, she came out dragging 'Mommy' behind her, with 'Daddy' following close on her heels. Aranaught greeted them with a smile and a wave. "Please, come inside," he said. "I thought that might be you when Casielli told there was an orc outside."

Once they were inside, and his wife had offered them food and drink, and they were settled at the small diningroom table, he told them, "How can I help you?"

Nerissa decided to dive right into the point. "I've been working all day to bribe you. So far, I haven't had any luck, so I've come to do it in person."

His face tightened and closed off. He sat back and crossed his arms. "Then you can leave now," he told her coolly. "I'm not interested."

Nerissa and Ferruk exchanged glances. "Not for any price?" Ferruk asked.

"None," he said angrily. "Why do you think we still live here, instead of in the guards' quarters? We can't afford guard's quarter housing."

Nerissa smiled, "I thought as much," she said smugly. Then she lifted her hands in surrender, "Just hear me out, and then I'll leave and never trouble you again, if you desire," she told him.

His eyes narrowed, "I have nothing to discuss with you. I don't take bribes. Get out."

"I'm not here to bribe you, Aranaught. I'm here to test you," she told him.

He sat back, arms still crossed, "Speak fast, you've not managed to get on my good side." His wife walked up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder, a sign of solidarity with him.

"I need a caretaker for my estate," Nerissa told him, cutting straight to the heart of why she was there. "When I saw you yesterday, and in all the time I've passed you in the street at your post, I've always thought you were an uncommonly honest and good man. The fact that you were often, by name, a thorn in my mother's side, further compounded that belief for me." 

"So?" he said, though his posture had eased significantly.

"I want you to be that caretaker," she raised her hand to cut off what he was about to say. "But I warn you, Aranaught, it won't be easy. You'll have all the protection a noble of my status can afford, but you will be pursued by those who wish to bribe you. Your family will be in danger simply because of who I am."

He nodded, "No more so than they are right now, though. There have been many kidnapping attempts on their lives already. In recent months, it has increased tenfold." He sighed heavily and patted his wife's hand on his shoulder, "I've been dreadfully worried, actually."

He thought for a few minutes, then said, "will you excuse us?" At their nod, he took his wife and daughter into the other room. They could hear low sounds of conversation coming from the room, when they finally came out.

"Why should we trust you? By the time we're in your house, surrounded by your guards, we're virtual prisoners anyway," he challenged her.

"Well, answer me this. What use could I have of you that I can't get from another guard of your rank?" she asked him. "It isn't like I have any direct rivals that you have access to, which others don't. Your rank is so low that the people you guard are beneath me, not even a remote danger to me. So what use are you to me besides what I've already outlined?"

He blinked at her for a moment, and looked at his wife. She blinked and shrugged as well.

"Okay," he agreed, "we'll do it."

"Excellent!" Nerissa exclaimed, deeply pleased. "We'll have your things moved there for you, but right now, let's get you safely to Fairbreeze. You'll live in my father's…" her voice hitched with sorrow, then she continued, fighting tears, "apartments there."

He reached across the table and patted her hand, "I'm sorry. He was a good man, your father. He really did try hard to do the right things."

She nodded and smiled, but felt a tear fall anyway. The family packed up what they would need for a few days' stay, and the group headed out. At the gates, they met the oncoming escort, which turned and headed back towards Fairbreeze with their precious cargo.

Her estates were secure.

Now, it was time to go fight the Counsel about her unwanted 'marriage' to Vranesh.

They stopped at the inn, where the innkeeper hailed them, and told them, "A message was left for you. It looks like an official missive." She handed it to them, and went back to what she was doing.

Nerissa took the missive and read. "I've been summoned, apparently," she said. "So have you guys."

Then she started laughing. The others were surprised, staring at her open-mouthed, as she laughed so hard that tears streamed down her face.

"What?" Ferruk asked, impatient with her attempts to talk between her laughter.

"He has petitioned for an annulment, claiming he was under duress at the time of the marriage. He wants compensation for his suffering," she told them.

Of the group, only Malovici seemed to find the situation as amusing as she did. She shrugged, "I have to prove that it was me under duress, not him, is all," she told him. Her face grew somber, "Which may prove difficult."

They headed to the courtrooms of the Spire, making good time despite the odd rush of traffic flowing that direction. Little did they know, but they were the objects of the interest that was stirring the city. As did all things in Silvermoon City, the news of the confrontation between Vranesh and Nerissa had traveled swiftly.

They pushed their way up to the red carpeting that led into the cool interior of the Sunfury Spire, but were stopped on the way by several guards. "The hearing is set to be heard here. There are too many observers to do it inside," they were told tersely by one of them.

Nerissa turned to Ferruk, "Listen, I need to tell you something. I'll be arguing that a marriage to you gives me more status in the Horde than a marriage to him. Please don't—"

He stopped her with a finger on her lips again. "I know. You must do what you must to survive. I know why you married me—the same reason I married you." He hugged her close and then followed her up the ramp.

At the top of the ramp stood a podium, with stools that had been brought out specifically for the purpose. Behind it stood an imposingly dour elf, whom Nerissa knew to be San'Heed Runn, one of the most difficult, irascible Justices in all of Sin'Dorei society. It was as if they wanted to have the most perfectionistic Justice possible for this mockup of an annulment Hearing.

Leaving Ferruk and the others standing near the front of the crowd, Nerissa took the place she knew to be hers. She hadn't been expecting this, and thus she'd chosen no personal ambassador. Because of the notoriety of the case, she doubted she would get much more than an hour or so in reprieve in order to seek and find a suitable ambassador to present her case.

"Silence!" San'Heed roared. The furor in the crowd immediately died. "The Hearing for annulment of last night's wedding between Vranesh Del'Narik and Nerissa Mequa will now commence."

He turned to Vranesh, who sat his stool beside a man whom Nerissa had never seen before, but could only assume was a highly paid ambassador. "Are you ready for the Hearing, Mr. Del'Narik?"

At Vranesh's nod, San'Heed turned to Nerissa, "Have you found someone to represent you as your ambassador to this court, Miss Mequa?"

"It's—" she stopped and tried again. "I was not given sufficient time in which to locate and procure the services of ambassador."

"As the allegations against you are very serious in nature, we cannot wait for you to go about the extensive task of locating one, Miss Mequa. Perhaps you should have considered this difficulty before you behaved as you did last night." He looked arrogantly down his nose at her. Nerissa's heart sank.

"I will be her ambassador," Whitecrow said, stepping forward.

"You are a witness, and are implicated in the proceedings as well, if you are this… Whitecrow fellow," San'Heed told him curtly. "That, of course, disqualifies you and all of your companions."

To her surprise, Nerissa saw Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron step forward. "I will—"

He was cut off by a voice from behind San'Heed Runn. "I will be her ambassador to this court," Thrall said, emerging from the shadows of the Sunfury Spire. A gasping ripple spread through the entire crowd, whispers of speculation and concern as well as interest.

"Well." San'Heed spluttered for a moment, "This is highly irregular! No other race may be an ambassador to this court, a point I would have made if these companions of hers had tried to insist."

"Really?" Thrall asked. "That's interesting. I've read your laws—a minor interest of mine, you see, as the leader of the Horde—and I see nothing remotely of that sort within your laws. If you can produce the statute, I will, of course, be content to abide by it, however." He walked over and sat on the stool beside Nerissa, crossing his arms and ignoring the groaning complaint of the wood as his massive bulk settled onto it.

Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron's face was wreathed in a huge grin, as if he were looking forward to watching Thrall and San'Heed take each other on.

An acolyte stepped up and conferred with San'Heed for a few minutes. San'Heed turned to him, and there was some snarling, snapping, and arguing. The poor acolyte blanched several shades whiter, but continued to adamantly shake his head.

San'Heed turned back to the crowd. "It seems that there was a misunderstanding on my part. Other races are not prohibited from the position of ambassador to the court." He looked sour as he said it, as if regurgitating breakfast rather than making a simple statement.

"Are you certain that you want to do this? Someone more versed in our procedures may be better equipped to handle this very delicate situation," he began.

Thrall was calm, almost passive as he cut in; "A clan leader has been accused of involving himself in a terrible crime. His marriage is in question. Should the trail of his wife be mismanaged by an elf—even if inadvertently, it could injure the fragile alliance we are attempting to build here.

"I'm sure that no one here would want that, aren't you?" He patted Nerissa on the leg reassuringly.

"Well, the marriage you speak of is in doubt," San'Heed said huffily, but Thrall cut him off before he could continue.

"All the more reason for me to be here and to ensure that the matter is settled in a way that honors the alliance between our people, wouldn't you say?" San'Heed's face turned to stone as he controlled his obvious distaste at Thrall's words.

"Of course, Honorable Leader of the Horde," he said, using a formal title in an attempt to hide his irritation.

"Very well, then, if both parties are ready, shall we proceed?" As they all nodded, San'Heed seemed to let out a deep breath, and nodded to the trumpeter, who blew a short note.

Court was in session.

"Mr. Del'Narik, you may present your case first," San'Heed told the blue-haired Champion and his ambassador.

His ambassador stood up, "Honorable Runn, Sir, if I may, I would like to present an overview of the circumstances of yesterday afternoon and evening."

San'Heed nodded at him, climbing onto his stool and waving for the man to continue. "Your name for the record?"

"Oh, indeed, my apologies, Honorable Runn. My name is Pincini Na'Vek, and I am Mr. Vranesh Del'Narik's ambassador to the Court, Sir, if it pleases the Court." At San'Heed's nod, he continued, pacing in front of the Judicial Podium, gesticulating wildly as he spoke vehemently, as if to add drama to his presentation.

"It would seem that, late in the afternoon, an urgent message was sent to Mr. Del'Narik to come to the shores of Eversong Woods, and rescue Miss Mequa. At this time, this group, whom you see before you, captured him. They returned him to his home, where they had bribed his brother to assist them in their perfidy.

"Once there, with intent to steal his fortune from him, the group forced Vranesh to marry the defending witness." Pincini pointed at Nerissa. "At this time, an altercation arose between the group and Quardis, and they passed from the house and out onto the front lawn, sending the priest with Nerissa and Vranesh, along with the shamaness, whose job it was to mind control Vranesh and force him to consummate the marriage with her.

"I beg the court to annul this marriage on the grounds that it was unlawfully obtained, and to compensate the petitioning witness with one quarter of the defending witness's fortune. Due to the painful betrayal by and death of his brother, as well as the mind-controlled humiliation by that troll woman, we feel this is a justified amount to request.

"Thank you." He then sat down, leaning over to whisper with Vranesh for a moment.

San'Heed turned to Thrall, "And you?"

Thrall stood up slowly. "I cannot begin to express how very odd this accounting of events is. Nor also, the odd contradictions that it makes to real facts. Let's add up the facts that are here to be found simply from credible witnesses.

"Of course, I know little about what happened, having been deprived of a proper time of consultation with the woman I am here to assist. I will tell you what I do know, and no doubt we can sort this out from there.

"According to my sources, during the time that Mr. Del'Narik claims he was being abducted on the beach, four of the five people here were in conference with Rhonin of Dalaran and one of his esteemed Arcanists, Arcanist Alec. With them was the father of the defending witness, Kel'Norat Mequa.

"When they left the city of Dalaran, as you will see during Hearing, they were witnessed traveling the streets by a large number of guards. Furthermore, they were joined by a group of nobles under the control of Kel'Norat, and several of these nobles will also testify as to the time that they arrived.

"As you will see, the time between when the group left Dalaran, and the arrival of Kel'Norat's forces, there was insufficient time for them to do any sort of wedding that would be considered legal.

"Additionally, any marriage, whether of legal consent or duress, that takes place after the person is already married, is not recognized within Sin'Dorei society as legitimate or legal, except in specific cases, none of which, as we all know, apply here. At the time that the four were in Dalaran, my sources state that Ferruk Firecaller at that time divulged that he and Nerissa were already married."

A gasp rose from the crowd and murmuring and even loud conversation erupted. Being elves, they were delighted by this scandalous and even strange twist in the trial. They'd heard that the woman had married an orc, but no one believed it was true!

San'Heed stood up swiftly, and shouted for quiet. When it was finally restored, he told Thrall, "You realize, of course, that our society doesn't recognize extra-racial marriages at all, and in fact, have a firm policy of executing those who indulge in that obscenity." His face was wreathed in disgust and outrage.

"I recognize that you have a tradition as such, yes," Thrall said, his voice suddenly arctic as he drew up to his full, magnificent height. His broad, powerful body suddenly seemed overwhelmingly intimidating. "However, such an act violates the settlements and agreements between the Sin'Dorei and the Horde.

"Furthermore, there is no law prohibiting such a marriage, it is simply social standards. This means, of course, that any deaths that have been a result of such a marriage, are unlawful deaths, and the families of the victims—and I call them victims, because they are victims of both prejudice and murder—have a legal right to compensation for those deaths, according to your own laws." He reached over and picked up the massive lawbook off of the dais it had been wheeled out on, a necessary part of the legal procedure.

Picking it up easily, a feat no elf could ever have managed—and even few orcs—he hoisted it up, so that all the assembled could easily see it. "This is the full letter of your laws. Not in a single place does it state anything at all prohibiting the marriages of Groll and Shantille, or of Ferruk and Nerissa. So if this court intends to argue that the marriage is unlawful, then they argue so against the dictates of your own lawbooks." He planted the book carefully back on its display dais, and turned back to San'Heed, who by this point was stony, glaring at him with barely disguised hatred.

"Now, as I had already pointed out, the marriage in question came before the marriage that the Hearing is being held over. As such, by the time that the forced marriage allegedly took place, the defending witness was already married, and knew she was already married. The questions I beg the Court to consider are:

"Why would she attempt such a marriage when she knew she was already married?

"What good does it do her to attempt to take over an estate that is less than one-eighth the size of her own?

"And whether it is a more strategic move on her part to form an alliance with a relatively poor noble house within Silvermoon or to take on an alliance with not only the Horde, but one with one of the most powerful and influential houses of the Horde—indeed, one that will give her access to the ear of the Leader of the Horde?"

He paced slowly in front of the Court Podium, hands behind his back, looking pensive. "It would seem that, if looked at outside of your social norms, the whole thing makes no sense whatsoever. Even within your society, it would be foolish for her to take on a marriage to Vranesh, whose house is poor compared to the majority of nobles of his same rank. To all appearances, this union appears to only favor Vranesh's house, not Nerissa's.

"Furthermore, I would like to point out that, if she were interested in social climbing—as of course, she should be, as a Sin'Dorei, so no judgment is implied here—there are, at minimum, ten other houses which are financially and socially more lucrative, and who have available husbands. I could list them if you like?" He looked questioningly at San'Heed, who shook his head angrily. "Of course, as you know, your own son is among them, though many would consider the age difference to be somewhat inappropriate, but I believe that is of little to no consequence in Sin'Dorei society?" At San'Heed's curt nod of agreement, Thrall continued pacing slowly.

"Now, having viewed the list of charges, I see that the list consists of only a single charge, which is that of putting Vranesh under duress in order to force a marriage. I beg the question of why there are no charges against her for the death of his brother? Why no charges against her for the abduction? Why no charges against her with regards to the sexual transgressions of the troll, whom according to Sin'Dorei law could possibly be held against my witness if she requested the actions the troll took?

"Indeed, I question these things because I know that they are so closely tied into this single charge—and they are impossible to prove. As such, the fact that they are missing from the charges draws a shadow of doubt over the entire proceedings.

"As you will see as we proceed with this trial, these charges are missing for a reason. They cannot be proven because they are untrue. And if they are untrue, then the premise of a forced marriage is highly unlikely unless the roles of forced and forcee are reversed."

Thrall walked over and sat down next to Nerissa. "I have no more to say in my preliminary statements, except that I would now request the time to confer with my client that the law allows for, with The Honorable Runn's permission, of course."

As Thrall said 'The Honorable Runn's,' the orcs in the contingent that had come with him started to snicker, trying hard to quell their mirth when the Honorable Runn himself glared at them. Unsuccessfully.

San'Heed turned back to facing the Court and said, "Very well, take your time to confer with your witness. You have 20 minutes."

Thrall and the group talked for a few moments, during which Nerissa quickly accounted her part of the story, and Ferruk the other side—with additions from Nantu as they applied. Thrall tapped lightly at his chin as he pondered for a few minutes.

Finally, he looked at Nantu, "What you did won't help our case any. He's a favorite amongst their nobility." His eyes crinkled then, "But it's funny as hell, and he deserved it."

Nantu grinned. "Jah, dat 'e did!"

"Alright, so now I know what to expect." He turned and looked at the Deathstalker, "Go find some of the street kids from the Rogues Quarter. You guys passed through there on the way to the residential area, didn't you?" When Malovici nodded, Thrall continued, "Their word won't have much of an impact on the court, but what they will do is throw more suspicion on Quardis. Because he seems to have been the orchestrator of this entire thing, what we need to do is to establish his patterns of abusive behavior. This, the kids can easily do."

Malovici nodded and slipped away into the crowd, disappearing totally after only a few seconds. No one seemed to notice that he had left. Interestingly enough, he also wasn't listed on the witness list in any form at all, an odd overlooking that worked well in their favor.

They discussed a bit longer, before San'Heed stepped up to the Podium once more. "Let's get this thing going," he shouted. The crowd quieted. "Alright, Pincini, please present your first witness or evidence."

Pincini stood up, "I call upon the petitioning witness to approach the book, Sir."

San'Heed nodded at Vranesh, "You may approach the book."

Vranesh stood up, and walked up to sit beside the massive lawbook. "Do you understand that everything you say in the Presence of The Book is evidence?"

"Yes," Vranesh said with a rather petulant look.

"Can you please tell the court why Nerissa said she wanted the marriage between you?" Pincini asked him.

"Because she doesn't need the money, only the social status. She was bragging the whole time about how much money her father made her," he told Pincini as he slouched indolently in his chair.

"And did she mention that she was already married?" Pincini asked.

"No," Vranesh said. Pincini looked pained.

"Not at all?"

"I said no," Vranesh told him.

Pincini sighed, "I have no more questions," he told San'Heed.

"But—" Vranesh started to protest, and Pincini gave him a quelling look.

"Thrall, questions for Vranesh?" San'Heed asked.

"I do, actually," Thrall said. He walked slowly towards Vranesh, as if pondering what to ask. Then he stood and looked at him.

"So she was bragging about her money?" Thrall finally asked.

"Yes," Vranesh said peevishly. "Didn't I already say so?"

"Hmm, yes, indeed you did. Were you aware of how much money her father had made the estate before that time?" Thrall inquired.

"Well, sure, everyone knows," Vranesh said.

"But despite the fact that everyone already knows, she was bragging about it to someone she was forcing to marry her?" Thrall raised his eyebrows, tapping a tusk as if puzzled. "Wouldn't she have more important things to do?"

"We had a lot of time riding back to the house."

"Really? That's odd, because witnesses my sources interviewed said that they saw the woman riding with six of your house guards, but that neither you nor Quardis were with them. Can you account for this?" Thrall inquired of the now very uncomfortable Vranesh.

"That's impossible," Vranesh said, "We took a back route, no one saw us."

"No one?"

"That's right, no one," Vranesh replied.

"Are you aware that there's a real problem with the way that some nobles—not saying you, necessarily, just some—view other people of lower status than them? They tend to entirely forget about them. In fact, they don't even notice them. They're like furniture. A chair or a street urchin—little different, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose," Vranesh said petulantly. "So what?"

"Well, you see, we orcs don't really see people that way. So my sources interviewed more than just the nobles and the guards. Nobles would probably not have seen you, and guards can be bought off to lie." Thrall raised his hand when Vranesh made to protest, "It's just the way of life, and it happens in every society, it's no condemnation of the Sin'Dorei."

"Street urchins can't witness, anyway," Vranesh said smugly.

"Actually," Thrall said, "they can, they simply cannot be brought to the Presence of The Book. The law allows for street urchins, or any lower class to be witnesses, including guards or even sewer workers. The limitation upon their testimony is that they may not enter the Presence, and that they must not be directly related to any witness. Are you related to any street urchins, Mr. Del'Narik?"

"Of course not," Vranesh bristled.

"Well, then it would seem that the testimony of the street urchins and the rogues will be allowed, as the lineage of the defending witness is minimal and direct, as well."

"So moving on now, can you please tell the court why you didn't pursue any other charges against the defending witness?" Thrall asked.

"Because I pursued the charges that my ambassador said I could win," Vranesh replied.

Thrall chuckled, "Well, at least that was honest," and then turned to San'Heed, "I think I'm done here."

"Pincini?" San'Heed asked. Pincini shook his head, his ears drooped slightly, the only betrayal of his disappointment in his client's behavior.

"Very well," San'Heed said with a sigh, "Thrall, your platform."

"Thank you," Thrall said, "I call Arcanist Alec of Dalaran." A gasp rippled through the crowd behind him as he read an incantation over a scroll, and the gnome appeared with a puff of smoke.

Thrall pointed at the stool beside The Book, "If you would be so kind?"

"This is highly irregular!" shouted San'Heed. "You can't just drag any old person in here that you wish!"

"I'm not _that_ old!" Alec said huffily.

San'Heed ignored him, "Explain yourself!" he demanded of Thrall.

"A witness is a witness," Thrall said. "There are also no laws prohibiting other races from witnessing in this Court. Do you wish to insult the auspices of Dalaran by claiming that one of their Arcanists is not good enough to witness in your Court?"

The challenge hung in the air between the two men, even Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron stood as if to intervene, subsiding as San'Heed managed to grind out, "Of course not. The ambassador may proceed." This time he couldn't keep the hate from shining through his eyes at the orc who had disrupted his previously orderly court.

"Arcanist Alec, thank you for coming," Thrall said politely. Alec smiled and bowed on the high stool.

"Was anyone present here visiting you yesterday in Dalaran?" Thrall inquired of the man who looked tiny compared to him.

"Indeed, Ferruk, Whitecrow, Nantu, and the Deathstalker Malovici," Alec replied.

"Are these friends of yours?" asked Thrall.

"No, I met them for the first time yesterday. Very pleasant folk, though, I must say," the gnome said brightly.

"So you are not doing them a personal favor by being here?" Thrall inquired.

"I am merely obeying a summons to Court," Alec replied easily. "Oddest court I ever saw though, I dare say."

"What time were they at Dalaran?" Thrall further inquired of him, "And what time did they leave?"

"I believe they were there around 7pm, and left around 8:30 pm, according to the timepiece I have," he said. "Which, of course, is gnomish made, and thus infinitely reliable. If I do say so myself."

"Can you explain why you remember the time at all," Thrall asked.

"Oh, sure. I always go to Dinner at the Legerdemain, and have a standing reservation for 8:30. I was a couple of minutes late yesterday."

"Thank you."

Thrall sat down, waving magnanimously at Pincini to take over.

"Arcanist Alec, can you tell the court who else was present at the time that these people were in Dalaran?" Pincini inquired.

"It was myself, Kel'Norat, those four, and Rhonin," he answered.

"That's it?" Pincini asked snidely, "There was no one else in all of Dalaran besides you, those four, Kel'Norat, and Rhonin?"

"We were meeting with them privately," Alec said. "Of course I have no exhaustive list of who was there and when they left."

"So you make a habit of having private audiences with total strangers, alone with potentially violent people, just you and Rhonin?" Pincini's voice was thickly sarcastic now.

"We make a habit of speaking privately with those whom we have need of doing so," Alec said coolly.

"And why, pray tell, did you need to meet privately with this group of dangerous adventurers? Could it be to accept a bribe from them to lie about their presence there, and the time that they departed?" Pincini looked smug, crossing his arms and daring Alec to address his accusation.

Instead, Alec laughed. "I'm wealthier than Nerissa herself, these people have nothing to offer me. Wealth is useless except as it affords me the privilege of indulging my magical and tinkering experiments. I have more money than I'll ever need, and it just keeps rolling in from sales of my successes.

"No, we met with them because an elf dared to come to our city and poison one of our Justices. An elf who the Sin'Dorei knew perfectly well was a dangerous and devious murderer, but whom they did nothing to stop," it was Alec who was accusing now. His eyes bored into Pincini, making the man step backwards involuntarily.

"You dare insinuate that we allowed or sanctioned these actions!" Pincini demanded.

"I dare insinuate nothing," Alec said. "I'm telling you that if you're going to throw around ludicrous accusations, you'll be wise to do so with a great deal more intelligence. The alliance between Dalaran and Silvermoon is delicate, and even indirectly accusing the highest ranking among us, especially Rhonin, of illicit behavior is exceedingly unwise unless you have definitive proof.

"We have definitive proof of Chalisse Mequa Trasamme murdering one of our Justices, and the fact that she was known by your government to have killed before. So mind your manners and your lies, else we decide to take steps on the issue of a murder of one of our Justices."

The audience erupted into murmurs and small knots of conversation, the slow hum of it rising to an excited buzz as Alec finished speaking. It was absolutely unheard of for someone to so directly confront any such issues. To directly accuse someone of murder was unheard of without a trial, and to directly threaten an ambassador during a court session was incredible.

At last, San'Heed managed to restore order by having the trumpeter blow a strident note with his horn. Silence fell and the crowd stared.

"Of course you know," San'Heed said carefully, "that the accusations Mr. Na'Vek may have insinuated are not the official statements or viewpoints of our government."

Arcanist Alec raised an eyebrow, "I appreciate that. However, I would hope that he would refrain from such accusations in the future, without evidentiary support."

"It is merely a question posed by the ambassador to explore every possibility," San'Heed stated. "It would be inappropriate for him not to explore the possibility."

"If he wishes to make such accusations, he should gather evidentiary support first, as any normal court would expect," Alec said coldly. "Is it the intent of this court to allow individuals to make any accusation they wish, without any sort of support or witness for the accusation?"

San'Heed shifted uncomfortably, clearly wanting to shout at the little man, yet unable to due to the status that Alec held within Dalaran. "As you say, the ambassador will continue with a less accusatory tone." He glared at Pincini, who glared back for a moment before walking stiffly to the stool beside Vranesh.

"I'm quite finished here," Pincini said. "Perhaps the witness's reaction is indicative of more than was his answer." It was clear he was trying to save face, but Alec just ignored him as San'Heed dismissed him.

With a poof, Alec vanished back to Dalaran. He left in his wake another rousing debate amongst the viewers. "Silence!" bellowed San'Heed, his voice rising in anger. "If you people don't shut up, I'm moving this inside!" The crowd magically subsided, a silence so profound falling that a bird chirping nearby sounded loud and harsh in the still air.

He adjusted his robe. "That's better. Now, Pincini, your platform."


	21. Chapter 21

Part 21

Pincini called several nobles to testify about various aspects. When they saw what, who was where, etc. Each of them slipped up upon Thrall's examination of them. Pincini's mood continued to sour, and San'Heed was nearly apoplectic by this point. Thrall's talents in the area of Silvermoon legal proceedings was clearly angering him more and more as the hours passed.

Thrall called three of the nobles who had accompanied Kel'Norat, and then called several guards. But it was when he called the first child to the stand that San'Heed lost his cool.

"You dare bring children in here, asking this court to take serious the supposed testimony of children who would say anything to anyone simply for the price of a piece of bread?" San'Heed shouted. "And children, no less, who have nothing except contempt for the nobility anyway, and would naturally lie about them any chance they got?" He was puffing by the time he was done, his ears vibrating in his rage.

"I would remind the Court," Thrall said in that deeply chilling voice, "that both of the main witnesses here are nobles. If these children would lie about any and every noble, then they must naturally lie about both of them. Because their claims are opposite, this is quite impossible.

"I would also remind the court that simply because a person is hungry doesn't mean that person is a liar," His voice, if it were possible, had grown even more cold and harsh.

San'Heed struggled to get himself under control. "I won't allow it! This is my court, mine!"

The Regent stepped forward and whispered in San'Heed's ear. San'Heed turned on him, then subsided. "Of course, Lord Regent, thank you for the reminder," he said, his voice vibrating still with his considerable rage.

"I am reminded that the law provides for it. Very well, you may call your riffraff to testify. I cannot make the Counsel accept their testimony, however," he said testily.

Thrall bowed as elegantly as any orc ever had, and called some of the street urchins, as well as several of the guards to testify.

The court took a recess then to allow people to eat. Thrall ate while he consulted with the contingent that had come with him, and the rest of the crowd simply seemed to expand, people sitting and eating right where they were. The lunch was late, the sun already crawling a good distance from its apex down towards the horizon.

Nerissa was ravenous, and when Nantu pulled cornbread out of her pack, ate as if to stave off death itself. The others seemed just as hungry (except Malovici, of course, who only ate for purposes of restoration, not sustenance)—the whole group seemed to have skipped breakfast, much to their discomfort throughout the morning and afternoon.

Ferruk noticed Nerissa's clear discomfort. She looked stressed and out of sorts, eating in silence beside him. "What's bothering you?" he asked her quietly.

She looked up at him and smiled wanly, "I didn't expect this. And I'm not certain that Thrall's antics are helping, I fear it may be the opposite. If it were a closed court, I suspect San'Heed would have refused to even allow him to be my ambassador at all. I almost think that might have been better." She looked at Ferruk guiltily.

Ferruk shook his head, "Baby, I'm sorry, but this is bigger than you, than us. This could determine the future of any such marriage, and it could determine the future of Groll and Shantille, as well as the entire alliance between the Horde and Silvermoon. Your people aren't particularly stringent about keeping the law, and they've made some poor moves since entering the alliance. This farce of a trial is one of them."

He gently kissed her on top of her head, "I'm sorry, I know you're scared. Everything is going to be okay. Thrall will make sure of it."

Nerissa nodded, but he saw tears in her eyes as she looked back down and continued eating. He suddenly realized that she didn't want to be the focus of so much public attention. And he also realized that it was usually the ones who least wanted to change the world that ended up doing so. She'd just wanted to marry the man she loved and get on with her life…

Sometimes, that was exactly what change was made of. Someone who simply wanted something that everyone else took for granted, but that was denied to him or her.

He wanted desperately to hold her, but knew that letting her get herself together would be the better course to take.

For now.

After the recess, the Court once more continued. Thrall called another child to witness, and Pincini walked up for his turn to question. He brought with him a succulent rhino dog, taking a single bite out of it before setting it in front of the elven boy sitting in The Seat on the opposite side of the Podium from The Book. No doubt the scent of the freshly cooked dog wafted straight to the child's nose.

"I say, you claim that you saw that woman riding through the Rogues Quarter with a group of six men?" he asked the boy.

"Tha's right," the boy replied. It was clear that he was hungry, his eyes focused entirely upon the rhino dog sitting in front of him.

"Well, what's in it for you, answering these questions?" Pincini asked, pulling the rhino dog slightly away from the boy.

"The man what asked me to speak 'ere tol' me dat it's very important to be hones' here, cuz this is important stuff what might effect the future of all of Silvermoon, maybe even Azeroth itself," the boy replied.

"Come now," Pincini said in a voice clearly meant to be kind, but which simply came out condescending instead, "surely you have important issues of your own to deal with?

"I tell you what, son. If you will simply tell the truth and say you never saw those people, I'll give you that rhino dog right there."

"But tha's a lie," the boy said. "I ain't gonna say dat."

"Did the man that came to you even offer you anything at all to come talk here? Was he simply going to let you starve? How cruel. I'm offering to help you, to feed you. All you have to do is tell the truth, admit that you never saw those people," Pincini said, his voice wheedling and soft.

"I says tha's a lie!" the boy shouted. "I ain't gonna lie, cuz I ain't no lyin' noble, I'm a real person, I'm a good person. We's don't lie none when it really matters, like you do. You shove dat right up your fancy ass, motherfucker!"

At the same time, Thrall had sprung to his feet, his voice cutting across the area as he roared, "What insanity is this?"

Pincini stood staring in shock and amazement. He'd never before realized just how much the lower classes hated the nobility. The crowd behind him murmured and gasped, obviously many were coming to the same realization themselves. Nor had he expected the visible outrage on all the orc's faces.

Pincini said, "I have no further questions for this… this… individual." His voice was angry, arrogant, and defensive. He picked up the rhino dog and walked back to his seat.

As the boy got down from the chair, Thrall stopped him. Walking over to Pincini, Thrall yanked the rhino dog right out of the man's hand—just as it was nearing his mouth for another bite. He walked back to the boy and handed him the food. "You're right, anyone who would do that to another person really is a motherfucker, isn't he?" he said to the boy, who grinned through the rhino dog that was now stuffed in his mouth.

"Damn straight!" he said with his full mouth as he ran off to the group of kids.

"And speaking of which," Thrall said, "somebody feed those kids. They've done their job, they were promised nothing, but they won't leave here without at least a meal, by my honor!" His voice was bellowing now, anger written in every line of his body. It was clear that Pincini had crossed a line with Thrall, and at the roaring voice, Pincini sunk into his stool, as if trying to disappear.

Thrall walked over to him, "Don't you try that shit again, you bastard, or on my honor, alliance or no alliance, I'll kill you where you stand!" He towered over Pincini for a moment before getting himself under control and returning to his seat. He glared daggers at San'Heed who had the uncommon courtesy to blush, his ears drooping in shame for a moment.

"Mr. Na'Vek, your behavior was totally out of line. If you commit any such infraction again, this Court will see to it that you are banned from ambassadorial work in the future!" he snapped pompously, regaining his composure and saving face for himself.

Shocked conversation arose behind them, the crowd alarmed by this turn of events. In Sin'Dorei society, it was of little importance to treat the street urchins poorly. Most believed that they were petty thieves and would grow up to be the same or worse. Thus while it was obvious that Thrall found it to be a terrible affront, the elves were shocked that San'Heed would speak so sharply about it. To ban an ambassador of Court was a very, very serious thing. But San'Heed had noticed more the Lord Regent's shocked and livid face, than Thrall's.

It was this which caused him to lay down such a sharp and searing condemnation.

While the children were being fed, the trial continued. To everyone's surprise, it was the Priest who had held the ceremony whom Thrall called next. He was venerated amongst the elves. "Pettere, I won't trouble you long. Can you tell us who asked you to officiate over the wedding of Nerissa and Vranesh?"

"It vas Queervis," said the Priest. "Nice feller, dun sees him he-uh."

"I'm afraid he died last night," Thrall told him.

"Pity, 'e vas in such a huwway fo' his bwothah ta mawwy dat gurl, but I didn't wanna watch dem consumvate, ya know," Pettere said.

"And who asked you to watch the consummation?" Thrall asked.

"Queervis," said Pettere. "Nice boy."

"Quardis asked you to watch the consummation?"

"Yes. Say, yew a orc?" asked Pettere.

"Indeed, I am, Sir," Thrall told him, with another flourishing bow. Then, "Where was the troll while this was taking place?"

"Twoll? What twoll?" Pettere asked.

"That troll right over there, where was she during the ceremony?" Thrall asked.

"Nevah seen dat twoll," Pettere replied.

"And the orc sitting there, where was he?" Pettere shook his head, "Twasn't there."

The same answer came for each of the other two as well.

Thrall thanked him and then motioned to Pincini that he was done.

Pincini stood up, and pointed at the Regent. "Can you tell us who that man is?" he asked Pettere.

"No, can't say as ah can," said Pettere.

"So, you don't recognize the leader of our people?" Pincini asked.

Pettere shrugged, "Dun pay 'tention ta who leadin no mower."

"Thank you, I'm done here," said Pincini.

Thrall chuckled. He was not impressed with the 'You don't know your leader? You must be senile!' defense.

The last witness was Pincini's. He called an elf up to the stand named Jeris De'Mar.

"Mr. De'Mar, what is your relationship to the petitioning witness?" Pincini asked him.

"I am the overseer of the House," the man replied.

"And what can you tell us about how Nerissa Mequa ended up in the house last night?" Pincini asked.

"I know only that she arrived in the evening, in the company of those four individuals," Jeris replied.

"Thank you," Pincini told him.

He ceded the floor to Thrall, who stood up and slowly approached the chair where Jeris sat beside The Book.

"You organize the household, is that how I understand it?" Thrall asked.

"Yes."

"So you could tell me who does what around the household and the rest of the estate?" Thrall continued.

"Yes."

"Who is the housekeeper for Quardis?"

"Thelissa Neriance."

"The name of the stablemaster?"

"Ardell Tho'Ras."

Thrall continued to grill the man about the names of various positions in the household for nearly three minutes.

"Who hires the guards?"

"I do."

"Who abducts women for Vranesh and Quardis' pleasures?"

"Tarisseil An'Rok."

"Thank you."

After an instant of unbelieving silence, absolute pandemonium broke out in the crowd behind Thrall. Tarisseil found himself in the center of an angry mob, the entire crowd bursting into a frenzy of absolute, sheer rage, with him at the center of the emotional inferno. Guards rushed down the steps around the assembled Court, other guards swarming up the streets from behind, and guards in the center of the melee trying to get to and possibly protect Tarisseil—or at least be able to say they tried.

A mass of flailing bodies surged around the trapped man, several people being thrown down in the process. The trumpeter blew a short note on his trumpet, but the crowd ignored it entirely.

San'Heed shrieked and yelled and screamed, demanding order. He was ignored also.

A woman shrieked as she was shoved down and stepped on, and suddenly even the orcs got into the fray, rushing forward to protect Thrall and the group he was serving.

Whitecrow, being a man of reason and also one practiced in managing crowds, pulled his shotgun out, aimed it into the sky, and fire a single explosive shot.

Quiet fell, punctuated by the sobbing, injured woman.

Thrall's voice cut across the crowd. "Look at yourselves! You're acting like a bunch of hyenas, fighting over a scrap of bone! Let the authorities have Tarisseil, and let him stand a proper trial!"

San'Heed, visibly shaken by the whole affair, looked to the Regent, "I think we'll adjourn for the day, and take this up at dawn tomorrow?" Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron nodded coolly at him, and the guards forcibly disbursed the crowd.

Also terribly shaken, Nerissa hid in Ferruk's arms the moment the Court was released.

Thrall turned to them with a sigh. "I didn't realize they would react quite like that," he said. "Elves always seem so reserved and stodgy."

Nerissa nodded against Ferruk, then said simply, "Not all the time."

"Mmm, yes," Thrall agreed, "so I see."

Ferruk told Thrall, "If I didn't say it before, I'm really grateful that you're here."

Thrall shrugged, but smiled, "I'd like to think you'd do the same for me," he told Ferruk.

Ferruk nodded, "Of course.

"I wonder if we could have a word," he asked Thrall. "The last few days have been very stressful and eventful."

"I can see that. I definitely think we need to talk, because you have some explaining to do as to why your eyes look demon-tainted," he said soberly. "The explanation I've had so far was not all that informative. If the Legion is starting this up again, then we need to take steps immediately."

"I don't think that's it," Ferruk told him, "though we know they're always trying to some degree. It seems this was a special case.

"Shall we go somewhere to talk about it, perhaps the inn?"

Thrall nodded, and they went to the Inn, with the orcs that had come with Thrall in tow. The group found a smaller, out-of-the-way table, and the other orcs took up rather protective positions at other tables all around them. This effectively cut off any chances for eavesdropping, had any of the patrons in the inn wanted to do so.

Shame-faced, Ferruk told the whole story. He held back little, and nothing of importance. Nor did he hold back those parts that implicated him. He admitted his behavior, the results, and the experience with Keleseth.

"I am ready," he told Thrall, "to accept the consequences of my dishonor. I know I must now be exiled."

Thrall sat back, the heavy wooden chair creaking in protest. "Have you considered the consequences of exile to your wife?" he asked after considering for a few moments.

Ferruk's heart sank, "I had, but that was before the trial happened."

"There are far-reaching consequences to all of what has happened here. To your choice to attack your friend, and then abandon them to the tender mercies of this madman. To the choice you've both made to get married. To the assault upon the household of a higher ranking noble." Thrall shook his head. "You bunch have wrought trouble everywhere you've gone, changing things, upsetting the status quo left and right.

"People don't like that," his eyebrows rose as he looked at them each in turn.

All of them looked away first, except Malovici, "Don't look at me, I was just in it to kill stuff." Then, "I lost part of my forearm."

Thrall chuckled, "You're still trouble, I think."

Malovici shrugged, "Only if I need to kill you."

Two orcs nearby bristled, and Thrall gestured to calm them. They turned away again, glaring at Malovici before they did so.

"So, Ferruk, what would you say to a young orc who came to you and told you that he'd gotten in a fight over a woman?" Thrall asked.

Ferruk considered for a while. "I'd make him do shit duties for a fortnight or so. By then, they've usually worked up the proper level of regret."

"But you think that, for the same infraction, I should exile you?" Thrall inquired.

"I'm hardly a young man," Ferruk countered. "I'm old enough to know better, by many years."

"I've never seen you in love before, Ferruk. Do you remember the last time you were in love?"

"No. But that's no excuse," Ferruk told him, almost belligerently.

"Of course it is. It's a good enough excuse for those that come to you, Ferruk, and it's a good enough excuse for me. I don't expect you to act in some super-orc fashion just because you're a leader within your clan. If I did, then I'd have to act in a super-orc manner myself, and really, I can't be bothered. Can you imagine how tedious that would get?" Thrall shook his head. "No, sorry, if you need to be extra special and think you're better than everybody else, you'll have to come live with the elves."

The whole group dissolved into laughter at that point, including the orcs around them, and Nerissa.

"I think that might be a fate worse than exile," Ferruk said when he'd regained his composure.

"I really shouldn't say things like that," Thrall said, but his face remained amused.

"So," he continued, "I'll meet you at court in the morning. Get some rest; you all need it, badly. It shows all over every one of you."


	22. Chapter 22

Part 22

Green ichor dripped from the cold, damp ceiling, landing with a soft 'plop' on the wooden box. Across the room from the box, a morbid looking creature crouched on a stool. Aside from the glowing eyes, one would think no life stirred there at all.

One would be mostly correct, in that no heart beat within the chest of the unmoving cadaver. It did not blink, nor breathe, nor move in any sort of voluntary or involuntary manner. It simply stared at the box as the green, glowing ichor slowly oozed in between two imperfectly joined planks in the lid of the box.

It waited more patiently than any living thing could imagine waiting. Even the mind of the thing was still and quiet. Close. Very close.

The time was coming.

Outside the door of the room, the cold, barren bustle of what the Undercity called 'life' continued on. Visitors came and went. Deathstalkers stalked. Apothecaries stirred and experimented. Miles away, a trial had just concluded for the day, and the players involved in it were moving up to their rooms. Their lives were going on in their own way.

But here, there was only the drip of death from the ceiling.

That, and the thing that waited with unnatural patience, for just the right time.

When they got to their room, Ferruk turned Nerissa to face him. Her face was drawn, tired, and worried. She was, of course, still immensely beautiful to him. He touched her, running a bright green finger down her cheek, enjoying the smile she gave him.

"I kept you up too much last night," he told her regretfully.

"No," she disagreed, "you didn't know. I didn't know. None of us knew this was going to happen. It's insane."

"Still," he said, unintentionally scowling. She blinked, startled by the look on his face.

He shook his head, "I'm just concerned."

She nodded and sighed, leaning against his chest. He pulled her snugly against him, "So what happens next?"

"I have to go into the Presence of The Book," she told him. He could clearly hear the distress in her voice.

"Oh boy," he felt a frisson of anger run up his spine at the thought of her facing that snake that Vranesh had as a Court ambassador.

"Then," she continued, "the ambassadors close their statements, and the Counsel deliberates. They will then release their Statement of Determination, and either I will give him a quarter of my estate and be imprisoned for the duration they set, or the case may be dismissed with prejudice. That means it's closed and they can't bring it back up. If they dismiss it without prejudice, then it can be retried if more evidence can be presented."

"Ugh," he asked, "so this could all happen again?"

She nodded against him, and he felt her tremble slightly. "They can make whatever decision they want to, really, depending on innocence or guilt. Whatever they choose can only be overthrown by another trial. If I am found guilty, I can repetition the suit and have it retried in the tertiary court. If I do that, though, and they believe me to be guilty, there can be reprisals against me."

Ferruk sighed. No wonder she was so distressed. He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. "Thrall will do his best for you," Ferruk told her.

When she spoke, it was muffled against him, "I know he will. I'm amazed at what a fantastic job he's doing, especially since he had no idea this would happen either."

"It's good to have spies," Ferruk said with a grin. "Sometimes you actually get information that's helpful."

Ferruk and Nerissa slept, each slightly disappointed with the decision for their own reasons, but each having their own reasons for accepting it as well. Nerissa was simply too exhausted emotionally and physically to engage in any sort of sexual activity to the degree she felt it deserved.

Ferruk felt the same way, after a fashion. He felt that sex with her in her emotionally and physically vulnerable state would be dishonorable. He was acutely aware of his need to treat her as honorably as possible, to make up for his actions prior. He was deeply touched that she had seen past his actions to the truth of who he was, and as such, tried to honor her in a way that showed his gratitude.

Sometimes, it just takes someone else seeing the good in you to make that good surge to the surface with alacrity.

Thus they decided to wait. Each privately feared that they might never again get the chance, yet each also wanted to convince the other that they were certain all would end well.

But when morning came, Ferruk couldn't resist cuddling her close. Over the night, it had impressed upon him that it could be the last time he'd get to hold her for years and years to come. He was solemn, and intense, feeling a strong and deep desire to write everything about her upon his memory.

She woke as he pulled her close, and she curled closer to him. He sensed the same urgent intensity in her grasp, and finally called up the courage to ask, "What is that flower?"

"What?"

"The flower you always smell like, what is it?" he clarified.

"Sungrass," she told him. "I use it in my soap and shampoo."

He breathed it in again, visualizing the waving grasses she had just named. It was surprisingly fitting, not only in its scent, but also in its waving beauty, a soft green and verdant grass that often grew in hot, sandy areas. It was reminiscent of the cool green of her eyes in the warm honey of her skin.

They lay like that in each other's arms for several hours, having awakened early. Ferruk held her close, wrapping himself around her and drawing her into his embrace as warmly and firmly as he could without hurting her or making her uncomfortable. Their uncertain future had two contrary effects on him (and on her, if he had but known it). He wanted to make love to her more than he'd ever wanted to make love to anyone in his entire life—yet he wanted to take these precious last moments and be intimate with her in simple, honest, and uncomplicated ways even more.

And that was how Nerissa's last morning as a free woman was spent.

* * *

The young elf turned to his companion. "Are you sure this is the place?" he asked her.

She nodded conformation, easing her hawkstrider closer to his. She was dreadfully nervous, maybe even scared, he could tell. He couldn't blame her, they were far from civilization- in fact, he didn't know where they were. She had led the way, and so there they were, about to retrieve the trinket that was so important to her.

It was a long, long journey, and they were both weary. He looked at the blond haired beauty beside him, and thought it was all worth it. He loved her, and he would give her the moon if he could reach it. Truth was, he'd rather have tried to do that than come to this forsaken place so far from home.

The pair sat for a few moments, until he sighed and started forward towards the encampment of odd-looking creatures. She'd heard there was a trinket that these creatures often fashioned, a trinket of great power. It was in some tattered old tome, and she wanted to know if it were true.

And so, here they were, about to engage in battle with these odd looking green humanoid beasts.

Surprisingly, the battle was over quickly, with the pair easily victorious. The young man was surprised it had gone so well, but pleased. He found the trinket, just as was claimed in the dusty old book. He presented it to the beautiful young woman with a flourishing bow. She blushed prettily and thanked him, giving him a chaste but utterly delicious kiss on the cheek.

He would do anything for her.

They turned back towards home, a trip of more than a week. They rode along, and he regaled her with songs, having what many women had told him was a "positively dreamy" tenor voice. She basked in his attentions, smiling at him and sparkling with an intense beauty that amazed him.

He often wondered what she saw in him, his rank so far beneath hers. Probably his unparalleled abilities with weapons, as that had earned him quite the reputation. He could only hope that as she'd gotten to know him, it had become more than that.

Looking into her golden glowing eyes, he was certain there was more than that.

That afternoon, they saw a group of humanoids coming towards them, and quickly hid in the trees. They were called "humans," he knew, and they needed to avoid them. So far as he knew, they didn't know the elves existed, and it wasn't appropriate for the pair to give them that information.

When the group had passed, he gently hugged her to him, smiling down into her lovely face. "I love you. Are you happy with your new trinket?"

"Yes," she said breathily, looking up at him, "I'm thrilled!"

He considered trying for a kiss then, but he was just too shy with her. He hugged her warmly, though, trying to convey in that contact just how much he truly cared for her.

As he reluctantly let go and started to turn away, an excruciating agony flared through his left side. It pierced into him, blazing through his legs and abdomen like fire. He gasped, "Wha—?"

He looked down and saw an ornate knife protruding from his abdomen on the left side, right at the epicenter of the excruciating pain. He watched, stunned, as the beauty he so adored reached out and grabbed the knife, yanking it out cruelly. Blood gushed after it, pouring down the cream-colored breeches he wore.

Disbelieving, he stared at her in horror. Poison began to slowly bleed through his system from the wound, and she laughed bitterly at him. "You didn't seriously think that I would or could ever love a commoner like yourself, did you?" Her magnificent face was an ugly mask of snobbish hatred.

Stunned, he dropped to his knees as the poison continued to work on him. Then as he fell face-first into the dirt in a strange land, far from home, the last he heard was her voice, "Thanks for getting me the trinket. Don't die too fast, okay now?" A spiteful laugh followed him into the dark embrace of death.

The memory replayed itself yet again in the mind of the unmoving, not-quite-dead thing in the dark room in the dark Undercity.

_Just a little while longer_, it thought, before subsiding back to a nearly unthinking state. _Don't rush it_.

* * *

The next morning, Nerissa woke very early. She quietly slipped along the hallway after kissing Ferruk softly on the forehead.

Arriving in front of it, she knocked lightly on the door to Malovici's room. A soft voice from inside invited her inside, and she crept in, leaving the door open slightly. Old habits of propriety died hard.

"I need your help, Mal," she told him, and outlined her needs at length. When she was done, he sat thinking for a few minutes.

"I can do that," he told her.

She smiled. "I know, that's why I asked you."

He hopped down from the chair he'd been squatting in and headed for the door. Nerissa told him, "I would have done it myself yesterday, but I didn't have time, and it's terribly important. I can't do it myself anymore, because now I'm too high profile for the moment."

She handed him a bank note, and he looked at her intensely for a moment. To his surprise, she hugged him warmly. "What's up?" he asked.

"Thank you, Mal, you're a good friend."

"Why are you trusting me with this? I'm a rogue, you know. A thief and an assassin," he informed her.

"Of course I know. But every night that I was with you, and every night in all the time they've known you, you've kept every single one of us alive and whole and together. Not a single night did you rest in your vigil over each and every one of us. You may be a rogue, Malovici, but you're loyal and beyond dependable," she let go of him and stepped back, her face solemn but kind.

He grunted and simply said, "What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not," she said, slightly smugly.

He looked at her a moment longer and then left without a word. To a casual observer, he looked the same. Someone who knew him well might have recognized the slight alteration in his features for what it was—a smile.

Ferruk watched him go, and turned back to the room he shared with Nerissa before she returned and found him not in the bed. The same jealousy welled up in him, and he considered for a moment. He breathed into that part of himself- the jealous, angry part- for a moment.

Mentally, he thanked it; _Thank you for protecting me, for trying to keep me from being hurt again. But these are my dearest friends. I know they are loyal and wouldn't hurt me._

It seemed to answer him, _Don't be too sure_. But it was a soft, unsure response. His jealousy had lost its vim and vigor. Ferruk smiled to himself.

Then he felt and heard Nerissa return to the bed, and rolled towards her. Her voice soft and low, apparently thinking she'd just awakened him, she told him, "I asked Malovici to take care of some things for my estate. I should have asked him last night."

Ferruk was glad to know why she'd gone to him, despite the fact that his jealous part had eased up so much. Malovici was the perfect choice to take care of such details. He smiled and pulled her close.

The group headed towards the Sunfury Spire early that morning. It seemed as if all of them but Nerissa and Ferruk were in reasonably good spirits. Whitecrow expressed how impressed he was with Thrall's performance as an ambassador to the Court, and Nantu agreed with him. Malovici, having returned from his duties, tried to sew a bit of flesh back onto a rib and steer his dead mount at the same time—sometimes with vaguely comical results.

At last, though, they made it to their seats, winding between some people who even looked as if they'd spent the night there, waiting for the trial to recommence.

Thrall arrived mere moments after they were seated. They spoke quietly for a few minutes about Nerissa's interrogation. For indeed, Thrall warned her, it would amount to little else.

Then San'Heed stepped forward and called the Court into session for the day. "It is time for the defending witness to enter the Presence of The Book. Are you ready, Thrall?"

Thrall nodded, helping Nerissa up from her chair. She took the vows and then sat down.

"Pincini, you may begin," San'Heed told the man.

"Is the man you claim to have married before your wedding to Vranesh here today?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"Can you point him out?"

"Yes." She pointed to Ferruk.

"Ah, would you be so kind as to stand up, sir?" Pincini requested of Ferruk.

Ferruk stood and Pincini gestured him up to the stool beside Thrall. "Don't be shy, let the Counsel have a look at you," Pincini told him.

"This is the man you married?"

"Yes."

"Willingly?"

Nerissa scowled, "Yes."

"Well… why? I mean, look at him. Why would any elf marry him willingly?" Pincini asked.

Nerissa told him, "Because I love him."

"Why?" Pincini pressed.

"Because he treats me like a person, he allows me to make my own decisions—" She began.

Pincini cut her off. "No elf ever let you make your own decisions? Really?"

"Not in anything that was really important, in things that genuinely mattered," she told him.

"So, if a man lets you make decisions, you'll marry him?" Pincini said. "Would you marry me if I let you make your own decisions?"

"There's more to it than that," she told him coolly.

"Oh, I'm sure there is," Pincini said shortly, "but let's talk facts. You're an heiress, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"So heiresses should get to do whatever they want? To just go wherever they want and do whatever they want, despite the dangers and their responsibilities?" his voice chastised her, lashing at her as if to punish her for even thinking such a thing.

Instead of taking his bait and becoming defensive, she said, "A person can have choices and still meet their obligations. Ferruk taught me that."

"So, that's all it takes to get you to marry someone?" he asked.

"No, you cut me off while I was speaking," she told him acerbically.

"Ah, well, do tell us another reason why you might willingly choose such an…" he seemed to ponder extensively, trying to find a word for it, "unusual," he settled upon the word and continued, "marriage. Please."

"He helped me begin to learn ways of taking care of myself—"

Once more she was cut off. "You had no combat training before you met him? Your parents neglected your personal safety?" Pincini sounded mockingly incredulous.

"Of course I had combat training, but only under the most controlled and safest of situations. I learned little from them except the specific ways to move my body in simple battles—"

"But you were captured?"

"Yes. It was only a few days—"

"So you married him after a few days, then?"

"Yes."

"Let me get this straight. You married this man, an orc, after only knowing him for a few days?"

"Yes," Nerissa said again. "I learned a lot about myself and him in—"

"Sixty years old, and you got married within a matter of days after meeting someone?" He was openly derisive now.

Thrall stood up, and said to San'Heed, "I think she's answered that."

San'Heed nodded, "Agreed. The question is answered, Pincini." Pincini inclined his head.

"So what happens to your estate now? Are you aware of the differences in Orc culture compared to ours?" Pincini asked.

"Yes," Nerissa said, "I am. What happens to my estate now is that I will care for it in the way I have chosen to."

"But is the estate now orc property, or is it still part of Silvermoon?" he asked her. "Do you even know the answer?"

"It remains Sin'Dorei, as do I," she said. "I will have dual citizenship, as will Ferruk. I examined this part of the law after Shantille and Groll got married, never imagining experiencing it myself. I found it very interesting," she told him.

"So what will you do now? Will he live here, or will you live in Orgrimmar?" he inquired.

"I will fight the scourge, where I am most needed."

"And do you think that this honors the memories of your parents," he asked her, "running off to battle while your estate sits unprotected and rotting at home? Is that their greatest ambition for you?"

"My father wanted me to be happy, yet also a responsible woman," Nerissa answered the question thoughtfully. "He wanted happiness for me above all else, and the right place for me to be happy is for me to be at Ferruk's side, working to preserve the future for our children."

"And your mother, what did she want for you?"

"My mother wanted me dead so she could waste the estate on buying power objects to feed her addiction. She paid large amounts of money towards that end, actually." At this statement, the crowd once more broke out in shocked whispers and delighted gossiping.

Pincini glared at her for the space of a few heartbeats, before turning away. "I'm done with this witness."

Thrall stood up slowly, pensively. He ambled towards Nerissa calmly, as if on a stroll through a lovely garden. "Nerissa, what is your position, your rank, within the Horde? Speaking as if you were unmarried and still an Heiress, that is."

She blinked at him. She'd never thought of that before, actually. "I don't know," she said.

"Well, who does?" he asked her.

"I—I don't know," she said again. Then, "Well, you probably do."

He chuckled, "Actually, I don't. So far as I know, you and every other noble or commoner of Silvermoon City is just a citizen."

He went on then, "What is Ferruk's rank in the Horde?"

"He's a clan leader," Nerissa said.

"So what? What does that mean?" Thrall asked.

"It means he has the ears of the Warchief," she told him calmly.

"So you would say that his rank is pretty high, wouldn't you? I mean, if the Warchief of all of the races of the Horde will listen to him and take his advice to heart, then he must be someone of importance, I would think, wouldn't you?"

"I would," she answered.

"By marrying him, has your rank increased or decreased within Sin'Dorei society?" Thrall then inquired.

"It remains the same," Nerissa told him.

"So, to clarify further, being I'm just an orc and might not get it, would you say that over-all, in the bigger picture, your rank has remained the same or improved?"

"My rank has improved significantly," came Nerissa's reply.

"Did you know he was a clan leader when you married him?" Thrall asked pointedly.

"I did," she replied.

"Are you aware that the wife of a clan leader is equal in rank to him, not below him, and that this means your marriage puts you as one of only twelve individuals present in this place at this time that has the ear of the Warchief?"

Once more, shocked whispering and gossiping erupted in the crowd. This possibility, it seemed, had never occurred to them.

"I was aware that women are considered equal rank with their husbands, yes," she told him.

"So really, by marrying this one man, you have essentially garnered the power to influence the future of the Horde, and all of the races therein. Would you agree with that assessment?"

"Yes, I guess I would," she told him, and felt herself grow slightly faint at the idea.

"Thank you," Thrall said, and sat down. The murmurs behind him rose in pitch and volume.

"Silence!" shouted San'Heed before it could get out of control.

"Pincini," San'Heed said once quiet was restored, "You have two questions, do you wish to use them?"

"Yes," Pincini told San'Heed, his voice strained slightly.

He got up and walked towards Nerissa. "Was this marriage you claim to the orc consummated?"

"Yes," she replied, "twice."

"Really? And who can witness that it was consummated? Did someone watch you rolling around and having sexual relations with an orc?" He spat it as if it were the greatest perversity he could imagine.

Nerissa told him calmly, "For safety reasons, the group who were with us had to remain near enough to us at all times to be more than aware of exactly what we were doing. They are my witnesses, if such are asked of me."

"So mercenaries, who will do anything for money are your witnesses?" he asked of her.

"Pincini!" San'Heed snapped. He quelled Nerissa, "You cannot answer that, as Pincini overstepped his two questions."

Pincini sat down, his face smugly self-satisfied. "No more questions, Honorable Runn," he said.

San'Heed sat back slightly, and sighed as if glad it was nearly over. "The Counsel will deliberate now."

The Counsel filed into the cool interior of the Sunfury Spire, and those left behind took recess. As it was slightly past noon, nearly everyone sat down to eat.

To eat, and to wait.

The Counsel retired to their chambers inside the Spire, where argument after argument ensued. As soon as one part of it was settled, another argument arose.

Outside, in the ever-mild weather of the courtyard of the Spire, people sat in groups, talking animatedly. Arguments broke out here, as well. One had to be broken up by guards when it turned into a fistfight.

Nerissa, for her part, sat in trembling misery. The trial had worn her down more and more as the morning had marched on, and now she was absolutely unnerved by the lengthening shadows of the waning day.

Malovici told her, "I did as you asked. You won't have any problems, your Seneschal will be watched over. No assassin will abduct his family, he will be treated as if he is one of us."

It was, actually, more than she'd hoped for. She'd hoped he'd find someone to watch over Aranaught and his family. She'd never imagined that Malovici could bring him in under The Code. However Malovici had managed it, he'd brought Aranaught into the 'family' of assassins, meaning that he would not only be protected from assassins, but if anyone tried to harm him or his family, the assassins would rescue them and none would ever work for the offender again. If they didn't kill the offender outright, that is.

Her eyes said her thanks more clearly than her voice could ever have done, but she tried anyway, "Thank you, Mal. I've been worried about him and his wife and little girl."

In the meantime, within the confines of the Spire, arguments still raged back and forth among the Counsel members.

Nerissa turned at last to Ferruk, "You're a soldier?"

He nodded, "I'm a soldier of the Horde. Not rank and file, in the way most think of soldiers, but I am."

Nerissa turned to Thrall then, "How does one become a soldier instead of a citizen?"

"You take the blood oath of the Horde," he told her quietly.

She looked at him for a few minutes. "I want to do it."

"What? Now?" he asked, blinking at her, clearly perplexed and taken by surprise.

"I'm not going to go aimlessly follow wherever Ferruk goes," she answered him pensively. "I'm going to fight the Scourge, and I mean to do it purposefully. I want to be part of something bigger than just a relentless quest for more power and higher status."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Thrall asked. "One of the reasons you mentioned that you wanted to marry Ferruk was freedom to make your own decisions. That will be lost to you if you go forward with this. You'll be a warrior, sent where I will, when I will. And when the day comes that I am no more, if you outlive me, you will be at the will of the new Warchief, whomever he or she may be."

She was resolute, "I'm sure. This is one of the freedoms that I'm talking about. The right to make this choice and live by it." She stood firm against his piercing, bestial gaze until he smiled.

Then he whistled- a high, piercing call. The orcs who had come with him, as well as the couple of trolls who had come also this time, came over to where they sat. "She wishes to take the blood oath of the Horde," he told them.

Nerissa found herself roughly clapped on the back several times, accompanied by hoots of congratulations and welcome. She was surprised by the display and looked to Ferruk for reassurance. To her surprise, his face was overwhelmed with emotion, as if this particular event were even more meaningful than their (albeit hasty) wedding. He nodded proudly at her, a smile lighting up his rough features.

She was told to kneel, and did so. Thrall wrote for a moment, and then told her, "Read these words for all to hear."

And she did, "Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death – it is these words that bind me to the Horde. For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to every warrior of the Horde.

"I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.

"From this moment until the end of days I live and die- For The Horde!"

As she began reading, the orcs and trolls knelt also before their Warchief. When she finished reading, they surged to their feet, all together, roaring with intense and ferocious joy, "For The Horde!" Their voices rang in the courtyard, reverberating off of the walls and sending small flocks of songbirds into surprised flight.

The crowd of elves stared open-mouthed, many of them looking as if they feared the orcs might turn on them and attack them like rabid dogs.

But Nerissa felt their pride, their joy, and their welcome. They were not, in the strictest manner of speaking, her people. But they were the people she had chosen, and they were hers now as surely as she was theirs. Her life would never be the same, and she looked forward to it.

When the Counsel emerged, she faced them now, not as a solitary woman struggling to find her way in the world, but as a warrior of the Horde. She felt that, come what may, she could make it through. She was finally a part of something larger and more worthwhile than petty squabbles over who married whom and who could steal whose money.

Her eyes met Ferruk's, and the two of them shared a moment of very real, very vital understanding. She was stronger now. She would make it.

He smiled, and she smiled back.

Then she straightened and took her place beside Thrall, to face those who held her fate in their hands.


	23. Chapter 23

Part 23

The Counsel sent word out at last that they were ready. San'Heed called the Court back from their recess, and the Counsel filed out.

"Have you arrived at a consensus decision?" San'Heed asked them.

Magister Rommath stepped forward, and to Nerissa's surprise, sent her a tiny, nearly imperceptible wink. "We have, Honorable Runn, Sir."

"If it please the Counsel, will you announce the decision?" San'Heed intoned habitually.

"I will." Rommath turned to face the crowd. "The decision and the deliberations of the Counsel on this matter have only just begun. The entire case has ramifications that extend far beyond the two witnesses seated here and requesting a resolution of an unwanted marriage.

"As such, we will first dispense with the personal matters between them. This Counsel finds it unlikely that Nerissa Mequa, whose estate is extensive, would attempt to saddle herself under any circumstances, with someone whose estate is completely failed." At this statement, a gasp arose from the crowd. "Yes," Rommath told them, "The Del'Narik estate is near complete collapse. Based upon this evidence alone, we would find Nerissa to be guiltless of the charges, but...

"There is further evidence, we feel, that she is blameless in this particular accusation, as well. In part, because within the Horde, her marriage to the man Ferruk Firecaller is expeditious for her, as well as for Silvermoon itself. Having a noblewoman who is an advisor to the Warchief, and who he obviously feels a degree of trust towards can only be healing for our relationship with our allies.

"However, these factors cannot determine her guilt or innocence in this matter. We cannot allow our desire to have representation amongst the Warchief's advisors to close our mind to truth.

"We have conversed at length, and we have accepted that, regardless of the intervention and interest of Thrall, the Warchief, we still find that Nerissa Mequa is blameless in the charge leveled against her, and she shall keep her estate in full."

The crowd broke out into pandemonium yet again. There were cheers from the working and lower castes. There were boos and shocked yelling from the nobles. Behind the Counsel, there was only silence from the few Royals who had attended.

San'Heed attempted to restore order. Finally, to Whitecrow's surprise, he looked at Whitecrow in mute appeal, gesturing in a sort of "do you mind?" wave.

A shotgun blast once more rocked across the crowd, booming with a deep reverberation despite the press of people. Silence once more reigned.

"If you do not control yourselves, the rest of the determination will be read inside, and you shall have to hear news of it from secondary sources," San'Heed bellowed into the quiet. "I want order, and by all the Deities," his voice rose to an even more thunderous pitch, "I shall have it!

Returning to a more normal tone of voice, "Please do continued," he asked Rommath.

Rommath's head inclined, and then he stated, "Regarding the marriage of Nerissa Mequa to Ferruk Firecaller, we do determine that it is legitimate." More gasps followed this, but under the glowering eyes of San'Heed, the crowd managed to control their surprise and keep it to a low murmur.

"This brings up the first issue that must be addressed. As a result of this trial, the status of one Shantille Helhammer shall be restored. Penalties as follows shall be laid in place for any who treat cross-racials," Nerissa cringed at this—she'd been labeled now, and it was slightly painful, "with prejudice shall receive penalties pursuant to the new Code HJQ-385 which states…" he went on to read an extensive list of prejudices and consequences.

The crowd grew restless as he continued, until at last he said, "While this list is hardly exhaustive…"

Thrall leaned towards Nerissa and whispered, "Just exhausting," causing her to smother a giggle.

"… it represents a beginning list, which will be expounded upon to prevent prejudice against those who marry other members of the Horde."

Then he changed subjects again, "On the matter of Champion Vranesh, the Counsel finds that he is culpable in the attempt to force a marriage upon one Nerissa Mequa for the purpose of—" The crowd was once more babbling in shock. But as he fell silent, they remembered themselves and subsided. "The purpose of increasing his estate.

"The Counsel finds, however, that being practically copperless and losing his brother is penalty enough, as well as…" he trailed off, then decided not to mention it directly, "as well as other penalties already given him. No further action shall be taken against him by anyone," and this time he looked directly at Nantu. She inclined her head, she understood.

"Furthermore, an official stance is to be taken at this time with regards to those who bring witness within the Court. Henceforth, it is clearly stated that races with whom we are allied may witness in any Court, save for those dealing with the dispensation of wealth amongst Nobles within the constraints of our society, or other social-specific issues which are to be determined with all haste by the Counsel. We recognize the validity of the witness given today, and do not allow for it to be overruled or overturned at any future date.

"And with such, we conclude our Statement to the Court and the people of Silvermoon and the Horde." Rommath stepped back into the Counsel group.

San'Heed, without formalities, and with great relish said, "Excellent. Thank you, Magister Rommath. Court is adjourned, this trial is over. The Witnesses are free to go." He got up and walked angrily into the Spire amidst shocked silence.

Then everyone began talking at once, the courtyard erupting in a vibrance of surprised sound.

Nerissa sat blankly, staring at the Podium. "That's it? It's over?"

Thrall clasped her on the shoulder, "That's it, Nerissa."

She was suddenly swept up in Ferruk's arms with incredible vigor. "Nerissa," he breathed. They kissed madly, caught up in the relief and joy that flowed through them.

But all was not well. The crowd behind them suddenly turned ugly as pockets of fighting broke out.

The fracas started simply enough. One group of nobles began to shout, and the guards stepped in to stop their advance towards the ramp. Instead of subsiding, the nobles began to shout at the guards, and whatever their demands were, were refused.

They drew weapons, and so did the guards. Other nobles took offense that the guards dare draw weapons upon nobles, and more weapons were drawn.

Thrall's attendants also drew weapons, and were at his side immediately, with the group's weapons appearing in their hands just as willingly.

Thrall unexpectedly grabbed Nantu's arm, and shoved her towards Ferruk and Nerissa. "Get her out of here!" he shouted over the din of the escalating arguments below them.

"What?" Ferruk said, surprised.

"It's her," Thrall bellowed. "They want her! Get her to the teleporter and get out of here!"

The group rushed towards the teleporter pad, but was met at the entrance to the Sunfury Spire by a knot of nobles, weapons already drawn. "Give us the troll," one of them said, "and go. We won't stop the rest of you. But she's going to pay for what she did."

The group of nobles stepped forward menacingly. The group wasn't going to get out of there without a fight. Whitecrow didn't wait for the nobles to approach. He suddenly flashed across the space between them, slamming into one of the nobles, the blond paladin in the front, with such force that the impact stunned the entire group of them for a couple seconds.

The rest didn't wait for them to recover, either. Nerissa rushed forward, going straight for Blondie's right flank. Malovici crept slowly behind the group, and between the pair behind Blondie, to land a vicious strike at the man's back, just between the breastplate and the leg guards, tearing into powerful back muscles and causing Blondie to stagger towards Whitecrow.

Whitecrow, never one to let an opportunity pass, slammed the gargantuan shield up into Blondie's face, tearing his helm brutally from his head, ripping an ear off on in the process. Blondie shrieked with agony and rage. Unfortunately for him, a Heal washed over him before he could retrieve and replace the ear—if he survived this encounter, he would be without his ear for the rest of his life.

Nantu, in the meantime, called from the ether a powerful bolt of lightning that traveled from one elf to another, bouncing between them and leaving burnt skin and singed hair in its wake.

Thrall and his contingent began to push the group backwards into the Spire through the simple expedient of backing into them. Beyond them, nobles and guards clashed, the shouting having escalated through some unknown agency to an all-out skirmish between the various castes.

Many old bitternesses had come home to roost. The rage the nobles felt at the violation of their champion, and their belief that the lower classes were deliberately spiting them by withholding them from what they considered their rightful vengeance against the foreign perpetrator fueled them. For their part, the depredations of the nobles against them for years had at last broke free as rage in the lower castes.

These factors among others combined to pit them against one another in the first real, open confrontation that had been seen in Silvermoon since the fall of the Sunwell. Granted, the nobles' desire to acquire, and torture Nantu had started the confrontation, but there were many old angers and resentments that had been left to breed unchecked among the elves.

Soon, the guards outside the spire closed ranks behind the group and the Warchief, and the elves they were fighting surrendered, surrounded by not only irate orcs, trolls, and the rest… but also by their own enraged royalty. The Regent himself had drawn weapons against them, and there was not an elf in the world who was still even minimally sane who would stand against the Regent, the Warchief, and ranks of their personal guards.

Thrall pushed the group towards the teleporter pad, urging them to flee so that the confrontation out front could be dealt with. It was, oddly enough, Nantu herself who argued with him. Fleeing went against the grain for all of them, but Nantu in particular felt she should stay to face the consequences of her actions.

"Do you think you did the wrong thing, then?" Thrall asked her.

"No," she told him, "'E done worse ta many folk."

"Then go. This isn't really about you, anyway. It is on the surface, but this trouble has been brewing for centuries, probably even millennia. You were nothing more than a catalyst. You, and Nerissa's farce of a trial." He said it openly right in front of the Counsel and the Royals of Silvermoon, unashamed and unabashed.

Nantu stared at him a few moments longer, her chest heaving as she struggled with conflicting ideas. At last, looking in his eyes just a moment longer, she darted up the ramp. The others followed, not one of them having been willing to leave her behind.

Suddenly, they were standing in the cold, damp, musty air of the Undercity. The bedlam of the fight was replaced by eerie quiet so abruptly that their ears rang with the resounding silence. The transition was so instantaneous, from life-threatening situation to relative safety, that they simply stood for a few moments in stunned contemplation.

It was Ferruk who broke the silence. "I'm not going into the Undercity. We'll take a rest at Vengeance Landing."

They mounted and headed for the Zeppelin in companionable quiet, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

* * *

Far below them, beyond the stone they stood on, even deeper than the dirt through which worms tunneled and ants industriously trotted in their burrows, even beyond the top level of the Undercity, the lifeless creature sat- still staring with unblinking eyes at the box in which a corpse was stuffed.

It wasn't time yet. The corpse still looked so perfect, so flawless. Like a doll of porcelain, resplendent in its perfection. A perfection mirrored from the life long past. Had he gotten the corpse during the time of bloating, or even (more humorously) during rigor mortis, he might have done it then.

But he had not, and thus his waiting was prolonged, expounded, increased. Patience was something he had in surplus, however. He wanted little more than to carry on with it, but it wouldn't do to be too fast and thus ruin it all.

No, he would wait. The right time would come, it always did.

Just as Valorin Ebbtide had waited for the perfect opportunity to capture Nerissa, he waited now with infinite patience to take his revenge upon her mother.

* * *

They left the Undercity, all with a degree of relief for their own reasons. It wasn't long before they arrived at the Zeppelin tower, and boarded the Cloudkisser, bound for Vengeance Landing.

Once on board, Ferruk and Nerissa took up the kiss that had been so rudely interrupted in Silvermoon.

To the rear of the Cloudkisser, Malovici, Nantu, and Whitecrow stood talking.

"Will I evah be able ta go back ta Silvermoon?" Nantu wondered out loud.

"Does it really matter?" Malovici asked. "I mean, it's Silvermoon." His voice was so acerbic that the others looked at him in surprise.

"It's a gloomy city," he told them with a mild shrug. "Don't you think?"

"I suppose so," Whitecrow answered. "Despite it being always brightly lit and carefully swept, there's something very brittle and sharp about it."

Nantu nodded.

"Yep, it's a kind of undercurrent that runs through the whole place. Like if you speak too loudly, it might fall apart and it'll be uglier than the Undercity beneath all that finery." Malovici said in a low voice.

"You think Undercity's ugly?" Whitecrow asked the undead man.

"Yeah, it's ugly. Just cause I live there doesn't mean I think it's lovely. Doesn't bother me or anything, but it's definitely ugly."

"I jus' wanna be able to see mah friends what live dere," Nantu lamented.

"Well," Malovici said philosophically, "I'm sure you can go back someday. But really, you shoulda thought of that before you went and got yourself some elf lovins right in front of everybody, don't you think?"

"I'll haves yas know, I was givin' him a taste of what he be dishin out ta othah folk," Nantu told him heatedly.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'," Malovici said. "I liked what you did. Had class, if you ask me. Shocked the hell out of me after all these years I've known you. But awesome. Seriously."

"Not so sure Ah tink a undead tellin' me sumting's got class is all dat much of a compliment," Nantu said with a grin.

"Well," Whitecrow said, "at least we know which line of prophecy that one covered—'Blue takes white, and thus white is brought low.'"

Nantu and Malovici both stared at him. Malovici laughed, "That's true. Hey, ain't that something, the gods knew you were going to go all dominatrix on Vranesh. Cool!"

Nantu, clearly, was not at all amused by his observation.

They disembarked again at Vengeance Landing. Once more, Nerissa saw it differently. Now it was a challenge. The dead sails of the Forsaken ship off the shores again whipped, tattered, in the breeze. But now, while still sinister, it also had a sort of cold decrepitude to it that gave it an air of being a relic of the past.

No longer looming as if to pounce, it now seemed to mourn what once was, and never would be again.

As they passed the apothecary building, the lightning still snapped across from bulbous form to bulbous form. Yet now, rather than seeming malevolent and crouching, it seemed desperately longing, the lightning calling out to some long forgotten hope in the past.

And then, when they entered the inn, this time it was as lovers, and friends. The rooms were separated again, Nantu in her own, Whitecrow and Malovici in the barracks-like common sleeping area, and Nerissa and Ferruk purchasing their own room.

When they entered therein, Ferruk looked around it and he also found it was different. The demon blood that yet hummed through him gave an eerie sort of vibrant overlay to the place. He saw the life pulsing in the musty mildew, and smelled its life as well. He saw the cracks and seams in the stone with new clarity and familiarity.

It was as if he'd seen it all before, yet never actually looked at it, never actually noticed it. The dead place, cold and stony, with only creaking wood to break the stony monotony, was actually filled with vibrant energy and latent Power.

He wondered casually if this was how Malovici had always seen, and on some deep level realized it was close—but not quite as vivid as the undead man's Sight.

But then he turned towards Nerissa, at last alone with her once more without anything to stand between them. He looked at her, and she was glowing now with the Sight given to him, which was beyond normal sight. She gleamed with a pale blue outline, and he drew her to him, feeling the warmth of her skin against him, despite their clothing.

He could feel much that he couldn't before. He could see the blue that surrounded her honey skin, her sunny hair, and her grass-green eyes. It was as if she were the incarnation of Azeroth itself, sky, earth, wild, fire, and the sweetness of her damp arousal embodying water as well.

Somehow, he felt closer to her in this moment than ever before. He kissed her with a passionate love that swelled within him fiercely. "I love you so, Nerissa," he breathed softly. His tusks, as ever, tangled in her hair, but he didn't care, if he even noticed.

She looked up at him, and he noticed the brilliant colors that surrounded her changed slightly to lavender tone, and then began to deepen in certain areas to the red of passion. He grinned. She would never be able to hide her lust from him, even if she wasn't so close to him. He could see it all over her.

And, in the whispers of her breath, the way it changed its rhythm and altered its song, he could hear it, as well. Her heartbeat sang to him, and he idly wondered if he'd hear it so clearly for the rest of his life. It seemed loud enough that he thought he might hear it even if he were miles away.

It was racing now, thundering with the force of her desire. Serenading him with lust and passion and deepest desire. He smiled at the whimsy of the thought.

She misunderstood the source of his smile, and shifted one long, elegant brow upward, "Something funny?"

"No, baby, just smiling at you," he told her, keeping his thoughts about serenades and incarnations to himself for the time being.

He sat on a stool beside the small table in their room and pulled her onto his lap. With a creak of armor, she sat down with him, and he kissed her deeply as she sat on one of his legs. Then he began to pull her armor off, his fingers surprisingly clumsy as his own lust took over.

She pulled his hands away with a chuckle, the sound lyrical and sweet in his ears. He leaned back to watch her undress herself, and then grinned again when she began to pull his mail off. Soon, it was green against honey gold as their skin touched. Then she stood again and shimmied out of her pants. He watched with great interest, especially when she bent over and her breasts dangled, full and enticing.

Before she had even stood back up, his hands had enveloped them, and he realized that even his sense of touch was exquisitely enhanced. They were so very, very soft. The skin had an infinite delicate silkiness that brought him to immediate, painful erectness. Where there had been the stirring of lust before, there was sudden, forceful arousal. His penis was bent awkwardly in his mail breeches, and he grunted as it struggled to rise upright.

She immediately helped, freeing him by unlacing the breeches and slipping it all off—underclothing and everything. He gasped as she kissed his leg on her way down towards the floor, and hopped slightly as she pulled his boot off before pulling the pants off. She repeated the process on the other side, but he was more stable that time.

Then they were naked, and together. The exquisite touch of her skin against his was almost painful in its perfection. She smelled of Sungrass—he knew what it was now—and the exotic pheromones that she was exuding in her aroused state. Her lips tasted of the honey her skin looked like, as if she had just drank the sweetest of nectars.

And her heart was beating so swiftly, her breath deep, heavy, and musical. It was a tender sound, the soft exhale of breath, the gasps as he ran his hands up and down her back while they kissed. The moan as he cupped a buttock and pulled it tighter against his erect penis.

His own sounds mingled with hers, the growl he couldn't stop as he felt his penis press against the soft flesh of her belly. The deep breath of desire as her hands ran through his hair.

All of these sensations, sounds, sights, managed only to heighten his desire to a fever pitch. He struggled for a moment against the demon blood as it sought to subjugate him, so that it could in turn subjugate and wound her. As he battled for control, he felt the elements singing through his blood, as well.

He was never alone. They were always with him, in their own way.

He picked her up when the battle was fought, and won. He laid her down on the bed, running his hand along the warm gold of her skin. The green of his own hide made the picture amazingly perfect. It was fitting that the warm earthy tones of her skin mingle with the cool green grasslike tones of his.

The elements in his blood hummed, a soft, lilting song of peaceful joy. For that moment, there with her, as his hand slid up her belly and once more grasped a breast, he felt as if everything would turn out fine. As if one day, all would be right in every world, everywhere.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, intensely, deeply. He explored the honeyed cavern, delighting in each treasure he uncovered as his tongue danced with hers and his hand slipped down to nestle between her legs.

There, he felt her heartbeat as heat that surged and cooled, ever so slightly, in a perfect rhythm. She was slippery, her body preparing for him, a wet welcome that he struggled to hold off on accepting. Impatience and haste was the orc way in many things, even this. But this beautiful woman beneath him was no orc.

And even if she were, there was no way he would have rushed this. The resplendent beauty of her hair fanning the pillow, the opulent globes of her breasts, the sanguine curve of her hips that promised delights, the legs that (for all that she was so short) seemed to go on into infinity, dangling off the bed… even the statuesque elegance of her long, slender arms… it all made for a delicious vision.

That it complemented his bright green hide only made it that much more perfect. Beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder. He finally really, truly understood this old adage. For in his eyes, together, they were beyond beautiful together.

And she, as he looked at her, seemed to be the pinnacle of perfection.

"What?" she asked him quizzically as she looked into his silent regard. He wondered idly if she were having such a nearly transcendental experience, and realized that it didn't matter. Whether she was or not, nothing changed for him.

"You're perfect," he told her, and heard the gravel rumbling through his lust-roughened voice.

It was so tiny, the change in her breathing, but he realized that his words had had a profound effect upon her. Her face lit up with the smile that suffused it, and he groaned as he once more found himself struggling for control over the part of him that simply wanted to leap inside her and set his sperm free, right now, this instant.

Their touching of one another took on a deeper note, a stronger desire, and he couldn't stop himself from sliding his finger between the folds of her labia and teasing at her clitoris. When she arched and gasped, the colors around her brightened even further to his magical, demon-enhanced vision.

Strange how the most horrific experience of his life was what allowed him to have this, one of the most beautiful and perfect experiences of his life.

To see, to hear, to touch, to taste, to feel on a level he'd never imagined was possible. To experience her on a whole new level. With enhanced senses, he knew when to touch, when to change, when to rub a bit harder. Her reactions had always been responsive, but now, it was as if he could sense her every nerve firing—as well as his own.

When she was gasping and clinging to him, he slowly rose over her, pressing her legs apart. He wasn't sure if she'd be able to get her legs wrapped around him or not, but he rather hoped she could. She did, though they stuck up a bit awkwardly behind him.

He slid into her welcoming vaginal canal easily. He groaned and had to stop as if it were his first time. He felt, with indescribable clarity, the muscles his penis was nested in as they worked to accommodate him. Every tiny movement tingled through him, his desire and lust reaching fever peaks with simply the feeling of heat and tightness.

Then he began to move, and the muscles inside her rippled as she looked into his eyes, her beautiful body arching, her breasts (so full and tight!) thrusting towards him. He heard the slight squelch as he slipped in and out of her, and it was an erotic, even exotic sound to his heightened senses.

Another gasp as he drove into her, his pleasure so brilliant and spearing that it bordered on pain. He heard a rumble, as of thunder, and for just an instant, as he drove in and out of her, he thought the cannons were going off incessantly.

Then he realized that, all involuntarily, he was growling almost continuously. Wet heat surrounded his penis, and soft skin enveloped his hide. He pushed himself hard, staying on the very edge between her pleasure and her pain—dancing her there on the precipice of desire. He felt subsumed in her, using hands, penis, and even body to take her to new heights of pleasure.

As her body sped towards orgasm, he felt his own desires peaking, and slowed himself through an act of sheer will. He wanted to hear her, to smell her, to feel her, to see her orgasm. He wanted to be fully present and aware for it. He didn't want to orgasm at the same time, because this time, he wanted to experience her in all her perfect grandeur.

At last, he felt her gathering for it. Her breathing sped up to a panting speed. Her moans and gasps came one on top of the other. Her eyes drifted closed, and the vaginal walls that sheathed his penis began to tighten reflexively. He could feel how swollen her labia minor was against him, the soft inner lips protruding past the outer ones and caressing against the base of his penis as he stroked in and out, and knew that she was close—so very close.

Then he felt it. Her whole body jerked against him, and the muscles of her vagina gripped him in spasms. A musky scent of pheromones rose into the air as she gushed fluids against his penis. He felt it all in detail, and could withhold himself no longer.

His scrotum tightened as his testicles pressed their precious cargo free and into the superhighway of his penis. They rushed free, surging into her with a force he hadn't expected, even enhanced as he was. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a shocked 'o' of surprise. Another spasm rocked her body, and he noticed it dimly as he was hammered by the waves of pleasure that washed his own body.

Spent, he collapsed against her when it was over. He held himself up as minimally as he could, and felt his sweat dripping onto her. He lifted his head and smiled at her.

She looked back at him peacefully, unperturbed by the nearness of his smile to a grimace. Oh, how he loved her, for so many reasons, this definitely being one of them.

He rolled over, feeling her legs trembling against him. He drew her body against his, ignoring the sweat that was rapidly drying in the cool air of the stone room.

"I love you, too, you know," she said to him, softly—so very softly.

"Yes," he said, just as softly. It was, he confessed to himself, still exquisite to hear.

They slept, though at some point in the night, he drew the covers over them, feeling her trembling against him. She settled deeper into sleep, but woke again not long later. Once again, they made love. Morning came, and he took her again, she meeting him with equal abandon.

Had anyone asked him, he would have admitted that he felt a bit smug about the fact that it took her a great deal of effort to walk normally when they finally left their room at the inn, heading towards Dalaran. Of course, no one did. But it didn't really matter; he still managed to feel smugly self-satisfied about it for the rest of the day.


	24. Chapter 24

Part 24

The group meandered towards Crystalsong Forest, uninterrupted by desperate pleas to kill despotic interlopers. It was a slow journey, really, taking slightly more than two weeks.

It seemed, in fact, almost anti-climactic, when they at last stood at the portal up to Dalaran. The others waited to see what would happen to Nerissa when she activated the tinkered device that was supposed to mechanically teleport her up to Dalaran. She vanished as she trepidatiously turned the switch.

One by one, they touched the crystal. Each arrived with great relief to see her smiling face.

All but Ferruk, who realized that this might be her freedom—or it might become her trap. Here, the portals were not teleport pads, but mage portals. If they could not get assistance in ending the curse, she would be trapped here until the end of her days.

He tried to keep his worry to himself, but she noticed it and asked. He shook his head, "Let's confront one concern at a time," he told her. She nodded and followed as the others headed towards the Legerdemain. There, they got rooms, and then sat down to eat and consider what the next move was.

"I think Rhonin will help us," Whitecrow said.

Malovici, watching them eat and trying to keep from sewing parts on (the innkeeper had scowled at him when he'd started to do so earlier), agreed with him. "Rhonin's sure to help, if for no other reason than that it's a mystery and a magic he's not seen before," was his comment as he fought the urge to fidget.

So it was decided, and they went to see Rhonin. As they entered the room, he looked up and, to their surprise, greeted them all by name, even guessing whom Nerissa was. His fiery hair seemed to dominate the room, a strange characteristic of the man that drew the eyes of everyone but Malovici and Ferruk.

They noticed more the aura of almost absurd Power that exuded from him. Ferruk realized that his senses were becoming more and more magically acute as time passed, and was both a bit pleased, and a bit unnerved by this fact.

He shook his head and returned to the issue at hand. Shaking Rhonin's hand, he told him, "We're here to request your help, or for you to send us to someone who will help us."

"Well, what's going on? We'll see what we can do," came his response.

Nerissa explained the situation, trying to keep it succinct and on point. At last, he nodded quietly. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

He began to inspect Nerissa with his magical vision, an ability that everyone had. It was the simplest of inspections, and it rankled Ferruk slightly. Especially when Rhonin began to laugh.

"Have any of you, and I mean, even you, Nerissa, actually inspected this curse?" he asked when he could control himself again.

"No," Nerissa said rather heatedly. "We don't need to, we know what it does!"

"But do you know its duration?" he asked her.

"My mother told me as a child, it's permanent until it's removed," she said, still defensive and even starting to show indications of agitated anger.

The group, almost as one, turned to inspect the curse.

And one by one, they reacted first with shock, then incredulity, and then finally ironic laughter. Anyone with any appreciation for the absurd, the ludicrous, or the plain insensible could do nothing other than laugh.

It wasn't permanent at all, and in fact expired in two days' time.

"All that, for nothing," Nerissa breathed, the only one not laughing.

"Not for nothing, at all," Rhonin told her, his voice now sympathetic and understanding. "You've gained friends, even gotten married. You were where you needed to be to free the Howling Fjord of Prince Keleseth and his minions.

"No, I'd not say it was all for nothing," he concluded. "Not at all."

She smiled at him, still a bit wan and unsure. "You're right," she said, though. And indeed, he was.

In stunned silence, they traipsed back to the Legerdemain. No one said anything, no one knowing what to say. Finally, they went about their business for the next couple of days. They parted at the Legerdemain, with the agreement to meet up there in two days.

Ferruk and Nerissa stayed there, learning more about each other, and making love repeatedly. They often ordered in, simply going right back to making love as soon as the food had come and been eagerly, impatiently consumed.

When the time came, they rejoined the others, and went on their way. Nerissa was free; free to protect the man she loved. And he was free to protect the woman he loved.

Diligence, after all, is its own reward.

* * *

Finally, it was time. The birthing room was quiet, and not at all what one would expect for such an auspicious event. Indeed, it was cold, the air damp and smelling heavily of fungus, mildew, and decay.

The light was low, the atmosphere somber. The only person attending the delivery of this new life was a strange, rotting creature whose visage was silent and stony.

Damp rivulets of green inched down the walls of the delivery room, and the belly of the bestial box bulged and groaned as the life within it slowly began to emerge.

Chalisse climbed from the box, confused and unsure. "What?" she asked, her sepulchral voice grinding against rotted vocal cords that had forgotten how to speak in the few short weeks of death.

"Chalisse," Valorin said silkily. "When a new Forsaken rises, they have no memory of anything except what they are reminded of.

"Long ago, you killed a young man who loved you, and left him for dead, far from home."

"Valorin," Chalisse creaked, and then laughed, the hinges of her lungs protesting the action. "He was weak and easily manipulated," she told the miserable, pathetic creature before her.

"That may well be so. But you also tried to kill your daughter, and failed," he told her. He watched silently as memories flooded her. She snarled.

"I will get my fortune back!" she shouted.

He laughed, "No, Chalisse, you won't. For you are dead, and can never reclaim it."

"What?" she said, even her rotted, cadaverous face registering concerned shock.

"But there's something else you must remember while there's still time," he told her. "Remember how it feels to be beautiful?

"Remember how the men lusted after you? Remember how it felt to know that you were always perfect?"

She grinned, throwing her shoulders back somewhat, "Oh yes," she breathed, "men worship me, they will do anything for me."

"Yes," Valorin said, walking around her now, "remember, Chalisse. Remember the power inherent in your beauty. Remember how perfect you were. Remember what it felt like to be so physically perfect."

"I remember," she said, slyly.

"Excellent," he told her. "Come, see how beautiful you are now." He led her to a mirror that he'd hung from the wall, the only adornment on the walls at all. It had somehow managed to escape the corrosive ichor, and now waited to tell Chalisse the story of her current condition.

He pulled her, rather forcibly, into its view. She stared, transfixed, at the horror that greeted her. Its lower jaw was barely attached, hanging on one side by a mere string. It was gaunt, with ragged bits of rotting flesh hanging from it. Clumps of clotted, unpleasant hair stuck up from its rotting skull like worms trying to flee.

Its golden eyes stared unblinkingly at her.

"What trickery is this?" she said agitatedly, refusing to accept the evidence of her own eyes.

"You killed me, and left me for dead, Chalisse," Valorin whispered in the spot where an ear once surely was. "And now, now I give you life."

She looked in the mirror again, and raised her hand to her cheek. Then, she shrieked.

Her shriek screamed out through the Undercity, echoing up the halls and through the cavernous depths. The abominable guards paused for a moment, cocking their heads to listen, before shrugging and going back to their duties. The shriek echoed further into the heart of Undercity, though, until even Jeremiah Payson the cockroach vendor tilted his head to hear.

And Valorin laughed. The laughter started out slowly, but then rolled out across the Undercity, pursuing the shriek of the woman before him, and those who heard it shuddered. Jeremiah even cuddled a roach closer, covering it protectively with a bony hand as he trembled in the face of the righteous fury in that cutting laugh.

"Hear me well, Chalisse," Valorin told her. "There's a special gift in becoming Forsaken. No matter how much you hate life, you will want to live anyway. You will fight to protect this undead existence no matter the cost." He laughed again. "And no matter the horror you feel every single time that you look into that mirror.

"A horror that everyone else will feel when they look upon you, you murderous bitch." Then he left her there to stare in terror at the crypt fiend that stared back at her from the mirror.

Then she scowled, the patch of brow that remained curling up into a wrinkled gray mass. "I'll get you, Valorin. You and Nerissa. I'll get you both, if I die trying. I'll get you!"

* * *

Miles away, Nerissa felt a coldness pass over her, as if someone had walked across her grave. She dismissed it as her imagination, and caught up to Ferruk again.

"So where are we off to now?" she asked.

"I thought we'd go help clear Naxxramas out again," he told her.

They did, as well as going on many other adventures.

They did see Chalisse again, but that's another story, for another time…


End file.
